Modus Operandi
by passionatelysimple
Summary: AU. Rachel and Santana are master thieves and Quinn...and Puck are the detectives trying to catch them. Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana, other less important Glee pairings will appear throughout as well.
1. Part 1

**A/N:**_ So, instead of giving up on my fics for a while (which I seriously considered), I've decided to create something else I can focus on instead. Fair warning though, unlike my other fics, this one will not be updated until there's a sizable interest in it. If you want more of it, review. If you don't then...well, don't. Also, __Thief!Rachel wins at life :)_

**Disclaimer:**___ The characters of Glee are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. No copyright infringement is intended._  


**Modus Operandi**

**Part 1**

Bright and early, it was another forecast mulligan in the month of March; just like every year it was a melting pot of weather. Frigid temperatures reeked havoc on the city with the giddy pleasure of vandals on hell night, fogging the windows and chilling the floors in one of the many garish penthouses in New York.

Currently, the occupant of said penthouse was in bed, lightly snoring under a warm down comforter, completely oblivious to the outside world. Her long dark locks were a mess of knots and tangles, clashing with the stark white bedding around her, and one long tanned leg had been haphazardly thrown over the side of the bed sometime during the night.

The moment was serene and kind of adorable—when the brunette started sleep talking orders to the horrible dancing penguins in her dreams—but as usual things so precious never last.

"Berry," a loud voiced boomed from outside the door. "I know you're in there! Open the damn door or I'll go find Streisand and force a whole damn wheel of Gouda down her throat!"

The girl in bed just grumbled a faint, "Johnny, there's no pop in your lock. I must insist that you try again."

It obviously wasn't the response the demanding voice was looking for because it was still muffled by a door. "Berry, I swear to God, if you don't—"

"You're silly, S. We can just use my key," a soft voice laughed and seconds later the heavy door swung open.

A fiery Latina marched in, looking a lot more menacing than the moment required, while her blonde counterpart skipped in afterward. Both were dressed in a similar fashion to their personalities—jeans and _Converse_, leather and stiletto boots—and the more dominant one had left the little patience she had in the hall.

"Berry, get the hell up!" she yelled and started stalking towards the unaware girl still in bed.

When the door to her room slammed open, the brunette in bed shot up and almost simultaneously fell to the floor.

"What the, Barbra?" she cried while gently rubbing her forehead. "Do you have any idea—"

"Don't even start," the Latina demanded before cocking her head to the side and looking at the blonde peeking over her shoulder. "Get Berry some clothes. I threw up in my mouth a little just now from seeing her Brazilian wax."

"Okay, S," the girl said happily and skipped towards the large walk in closet a little ways from the door.

The girl on the floor rolled her eyes and pushed herself up to her feet so she was standing in just a rumpled navy tank top. "Santana, can you ever make an low key entrance? The phone is an excellent tool to use for such a situation."

"Hells no," replied Santana sarcastically. "So the Brazilian means you're getting somewhere with that waitress, huh?"

The girl opened her mouth to argue otherwise when the blonde reappeared at her side with an arm full of clothes. "Rachel totally tapped the waitress last night."

The brunette turned to gap at the blonde incredulously before shaking her head. "Brittany, how—"

"Dear lord, Berry, even I know it's the hair. What the hell did you do, fuck her standing on your head?"

"I resent the crass nature you are using to describe my personal life, not that there is anything to tell. I merely asked her out for coffee—"

"Yeah, don't care," Santana interrupted with a wave of her hand. "As long as your loosened up and got laid. I've been having a hard time not shooting you while you go on your five hour rants about the benefits of a Vegan diet, which before you ask, no I'd rather die than live off rabbit food for the rest of my life."

Rachel was in the middle of pulling on the tiny white shorts Brittany had given her, when she looked up with a frown. "While I take great offence to your lack of understanding for my personal dietary choices and the helpless animals around the world, I was not with the waitress last night."

"Right," Santana laughed with a roll of her eyes. "Then where were you? You certainly weren't here because me and B were here banging on the door for an hour."

Rachel sighed and quickly walked by Santana into the hall, the Latina instantly trailed after her.

Neither spoke until they reached the kitchen. It was a nice space: lots of dark granite, cherry wood and stainless steel. The most redeeming feature had always been the view offered to a person if they turned the right way and looked out at the skyline through the large ceiling high windows afforded to the penthouse suite. If only it wasn't blocked by that grotesque grand piano Rachel insisted on buying the moment she moved in.

"If you must know," Rachel called over her shoulder while routing through her cabinets for a coffee cup, "I was—"

A banging on the door caused Rachel to jump in surprise, thankfully she hadn't yet found a mug because she was sure it would've been pieces on the floor. The clicking of Santana's heels stopped abruptly from somewhere just beyond the threshold of the kitchen.

"Who the hell is that?" she growled, clearly annoyed by the interruption to her interrogation.

Rachel shrugged and moved from the kitchen to answer the door while Santana gently pulled Brittany with her to the stools set up around the kitchen counter. The open floor plan gave Santana a perfect view of the door and the rat's nest at the back of Rachel's head. She had so been with the waitress.

The brunette opened the door and when she subtly moved to lean against it to block the view of the apartment from her guests, Santana sighed.

"B," she said softly and the blonde looked up at her with a giant smile. "Go in to Rachel's room, okay? I'll come get you later."

Brittany tilted her head to the side, clearly confused by the request before her eyes lit up in understanding. "The police?"

Santana nodded, even though the way Rachel's body stiffened the moment she opened the door said it was much more serious than that. The Latina just didn't have the heart to tell the blonde otherwise. When Brittany was out of sight, Santana rolled her eyes at the conversation at the door.

"You do know that I have a legal right to refuse you entrance into my home. You have no probable cause for such a breach of my personal space. Furthermore—"

Santana couldn't hear what was said but seconds later Rachel was stepping away from the door with a dramatic wave of her arms.

Apparently, they were coming in. She couldn't have them scaring Brittany and when her eyes caught Rachel's she seemed to be thinking the same thing, until a giant burly man sauntering his way in to the foyer broke their eye contact.

Rachel frowned in disgust as she eyed the dark strip of hair on his otherwise shaved head and the barely leather jacket was enough to make Santana sneer mockingly. His arrogant smirk just completed the overly sad package.

When he spotted Santana, he drank her in greedily with darkening eyes. "Ah, you have company."

The Latina fought the urge she had to beat his face in and shook her head instead. "Yeah and you must be a total riot at parties, Captain Obvious."

His fists clenched briefly and Santana was able to ignore the warning glare Rachel shot her when a blonde woman stepped in the apartment, stopping beside the Neanderthal.

"Hello, I'm Detective Quinn Fabray and this is my partner, Detective Puckerman," the blonde said primly and Santana really had nothing to say against the woman, besides the questionable—and extremely nauseating—company she kept.

Her stylish black trench coat was open slightly, falling carelessly to her sides. It was intentional so the gold shield and semi-automatic strapped to her belt could be displayed with the dazzling arrogance of entitled authority. The navy blouse did everything to bring out the dangerous glints of hazel in her eyes and soft blonde curls fell over her shoulders looking like a stream of gold silk. Unlike her partner, this package was anything but sad.

"You two can call me, Puck," the meathead said smoothly and all three women just shook their heads.

"The detectives were telling me about a robbery at a jewelry store last week in Soho," Rachel explained to Santana until she turned to stare at the blonde with wide eyes. "We aren't suspects, are we?"

Quinn looked over at Rachel, taking in the brunette's rather mused appearance with a blatant swipe of the eyes, before shaking her head. "No, no, nothing like that. We just wanted to talk to you because your name came up in the course of our investigation."

"Berry?" Santana laughed, almost toppling off the stool in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. "There's no possible way. She thinks it's stealing when she doesn't tip a waitress fifteen percent and she practically went into a panic attack at lunch last week when she realized she didn't have enough change."

Rachel huffed in annoyance and glared menacingly at Santana. "I merely enjoy supporting the up and comers in the entertainment industry. It is more than likely that over half of the wait staff that has ever served us were aspiring actors and I don't have to imagine how hard it can be. After all, we are in the business."

Santana rolled her eyes. "We sell music, Berry, not hopes and dreams."

Rachel opened her mouth to retort with a usual long-winded response but Puck beat her to it. "What do you two do exactly?"

"I'm completely appalled by your audacity to ask such a question. Do you even listen to music at all?" Rachel gasped, before she scurried to her purse, hanging near the door, and returned with two small cards that she handed to the both of them. "We co-founded, DangerStar Records. I'm sure you've heard of some of our artists: Country singer, Big Willie Miles, our recently signed J-pop boy band, 4pop or the Olivia Newton John cover band, Sylvester."

"Berry, give it a rest, already," Santana groaned before narrowing her eyes onto the crime fighting duo. "Why are you here again?"

Quinn looked amused, the slight quirk of her lips gave her away but Santana had to hand it to her, she recovered nicely. "Actually, Miss Berry bought a pair of cufflinks at the jewelry store that was robbed and we just need confirmation of the purchase for our records. You did buy them, correct?"

Rachel beamed brightly and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, they were a wedding gift for my Daddy. He's gone for years using these distasteful faux gold ones, they literally never match with anything, and my fathers were renewing their wedding vows in Hawaii last weekend so it was the perfect time for an upgrade. The ceremony was wonderful, on the beach actually. I have pictures if either of you are interested."

Puck's face contorted with obvious distaste for the idea while the blonde detective just smiled and shook her head. "Maybe some other time. We really need to get back to the station. If you could show us a copy of the receipt, we'll be on our way."

"Yeah," Puck smirked. "If you have an extra copy lying around, you can give it to us and get back to whatever you were doing before we arrived."

His eyes trailed over Rachel's appearance with a smirk that made Santana's jaw clench and Rachel hug her body protectively. Thankfully, Quinn stepped forward in her partner's eye line before Santana pounced.

"So do you have the receipt?" she asked softly with a slight tilt of her head.

Rachel's head snapped up and she nodded quickly before making her way to the desk that rested against a rust coloured accent wall adjacent to the large windows Santana liked so much. The desk was old, an antique that had most likely been restored some time before Rachel bought it. She fell in love with the natural wood and the almost battered quality to it, even though it still stood so strong. She quickly pulled out a drawer and flipped through her files before drawing out the sheet she needed.

Rachel moved back to hand it to the blonde with a smile. "Anything else?"

Quinn slowly shook her head, her eyes studying Rachel's face. "No, that's it. We'll be in touch, if we happen to have any other questions."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will," Santana snorted and Rachel glared darkly at her before turning back to her guests.

"Please forgive her, she doesn't do very well until she's working her way toward alcoholic. Please let me walk you to the door, you are after all guests in my home," Rachel exclaimed with another bright smile.

"Unwanted guests," Santana mumbled, though everybody was too far away to hear her anyway.

Rachel was still beaming up at the blonde and Santana felt her stomach churn a little. The Berry mating ritual was not something pleasant to watch.

"Under the circumstances, I can't very well say with the upmost honesty that I'll be seeing you again, since the receipt was all you were after," the tiny brunette explained. "So I'll just bid you farewell."

Both detectives were in the hall and much to Rachel and Puck's surprise, Quinn turned back to face the woman inside the door.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you'll think of something that pertains to the case. I already have your number…" the blonde trailed off, holding up the card Rachel had given her. "So, here's mine, just in case."

The detective retrieved a similar card from her coat and held it out for the other woman to take.

"I'll be sure to do that," Rachel teased before taking the card with a small smile.

When she finally shut the door and turned around, Santana was looking at her with a look of utter revulsion. "You're actually thinking about calling her. That's so disgusting."

"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," Rachel scoffed. "Of course not, though she was quite beautiful."

"Oh my God and you wonder why I drink?" Santana yelled with an exaggerated growl of aggravation. "You can't do this right now. You really think it was a coincidence that they just happened to pick your name, out of the hundreds of people that bought something from that store, for a home visit?"

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, clearly not appreciating the accusation. "No, I didn't and I don't understand why you continue to underestimate me. I mean if memory serves, it was your idea to buy those cufflinks in the first place to research the store."

Santana's eyes narrowed at the insult to her plan. It was flawless; Berry didn't know anything. "Well, they obviously have an informant so my idea wasn't the problem, was it?"

"Well, it wasn't me," Rachel huffed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "There's only one person that is spineless enough to give them your name."

"Hummel," Santana growled and Rachel tried not to wince when she heard the Latina's teeth grind together angrily.

Rachel rubbed her eyes, tiredly, it was really too early for Santana. She tried her best to placate the volatile woman anyway, not that it ever really worked. "Right, so we're master thieves, lets figure out a proper course of action before we retrieve the _Van Gogh _next month because you know I can't perform with a conflicted psyche."

Santana still looked mad enough to kill but she managed to smirk confidently as a plan formed in her mind's eye. "Let's find out a bit more about you're new eye-fuck buddy, shall we?"

Rachel sighed but didn't say anything because her efforts would be in vain—they always were where Santana was concerned.


	2. Part 2

**A/N: **_Oh my gosh, I really meant to have this up earlier, especially after all the supportive feedback I received in favour of continuing this. Unfortunately, life got in the way and I wanted to update my other story, All She Wanted before I focused on this. It took a lot longer than I expected, which inconsequently pushed this story on the back burner for way too long. Hopefully, nobody has been plotting my murder because of the wait and if you are please take into account that I'm really not an interesting enough person to kill - I would so not do well as a Dexter victim, they are always so much more witty in the face of death than I am._

_Same rules apply as before, review if you want more._

**Part 2**

The mornings were still inconveniently chilly, just like yesterday, so Rachel had a fluffy black cardigan covering the white blouse she'd worn for work later on. Santana had gone with a patented leather jacket, this one cropped just below her chest, making her white V-Neck Tee more pronounced as it hugged the curves of her torso.

Their car was parked off to the side in the Garment District of Manhattan, an instrumental piece to Santana's plan. Rachel had tried to listen to the merits of such a position, or why Santana insisted on 'borrowing' a car from one of the many fashion forward employees working their way to five o'clock in a surrounding building, but she needed all of the empty calories in her still half full Soy Macchiato to entirely comprehend one of Santana's schemes of debauchery.

It had surprisingly taken them a fair bit of time—almost all of the day left after the detectives had left her home—to find out where Kurt Hummel was hiding. He was a trusted fence in their world and Rachel supposed he had to be crafty to be kind in his line of business. Still, they were better. It just took them a little longer than normal because he'd been shacked up in his boyfriend's studio, without seeing the light of day, for the sole purpose of hiding from them, well, more Santana.

But, they found him and Rachel was there to make sure Santana didn't do anything stupid. Brittany had made her promise—and get out of bed at the crack of dawn while Santana paced like a rabid panther in her living room—to make sure the Latina wasn't hauled away in handcuffs, or something worse.

"How long do we have to sit here?" Rachel sighed, while sipping from the extra large paper cup in her hands. The taste made her eyes roll back in pleasure every single time.

Santana shrugged, not taking her eyes off the large building a little ways down the street. "Until I'm sure that the place isn't under surveillance."

Rachel huffed because this was getting ludicrous. She'd missed the relaxing lilac scented bubble bath she'd planned for this morning for this. It was the only late start she ever afforded herself every month, preferring to burn the candle at both ends of the day whenever she could. It was all ruined now, though, in lieu of another vendetta Santana had dreamed up.

"Is Kurt really worth all this effort? We've been sitting in a stolen car for hours," Rachel sighed while she maneuvered her cup to her other hand to keep it warm. "I still don't see why we couldn't just rent one and I'm quite sure whatever he told them was frivolous anyway."

"Nobody rats on me and gets away with it, especially someone as worthless as, Hummel," Santana growled and Rachel couldn't help but admire the Latina's tenacity, even in her pre-macchiato delirium. "And you know that renting a car defeats the purpose of being criminals. Why pay when you can steal? Besides, this is more fun anyway. Loosen up, Berry."

Rachel gasped loudly, almost like she'd been told the most scandalous thing in the entire world, which to her it might have been. "I resent that remark. I'm extremely loose, definitely looser than the average woman. It's why I keep to a particularly strict Yoga regiment throughout the workweek. I assure you that my bad mood stems from the unfortunate set back to my night time skin care regiment because of the leather gloves we are forced to wear in a stolen vehicle."

"Yeah, you would," Santana murmured with a roll of her eyes.

"I just don't see why we can't deal with this like adults. We've been staking out a warehouse since before sunrise so you can intimidate somebody without police intervention. Really, Santana, it doesn't sound like you've thought this through at all. Kurt might've had his reasons for doing what he did or maybe it wasn't even him. We don't know for sure."

Except they did, but Rachel wasn't above ignoring the facts if it fit her purpose at the present time. Besides, people deserved the benefit of the doubt until proven guilty. Unfortunately, that was a code of ethics, Santana had yet to agree with.

"God, I'm not going to do anything that bad to him," Santana groaned with a shake of her head. "I don't need to. He'll flinch if I mention white after Labor Day and it was him, don't try to talk me out of it."

Rachel sighed and took a resigned sip from her cup. "Fine, but I want my objection to this ridiculous idea to be acknowledged."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Berry."

Since they were young, Rachel always had to be the calm to Santana's chaos. The Latina lit fuses constantly, some simmered at a slow burn and were hardly noticeable until the inevitable bang, and then there were others—the more common ones—that were like whipping hand grenades at unsuspecting targets. It was just a lot of unnecessary carnage and over kill.

But, Rachel's always upbeat attitude—coupled with a truly impressive amount of eternal optimism for such a tiny person—was even more than Santana's naturally volatile way of life could handle. The girl's endless rants about the good in people, and her extremist views on how violence never solved anything, could beat even the most cynical to submission with the pain of a migraine.

It was why they worked, that and Rachel was the only one crazy enough to stand up to the intimidating package Santana Lopez put forth daily. They both hated to concede to each other and their arguments usually stemmed from that, not the dissention the tabloids were convinced was at fault.

Rachel sighed, while absently looking out to the window as a coffee laden intern stumbled passed, nearly dropping his poorly constructed cup tower all over a crack in the sidewalk.

The tiny brunette quickly looked back at her friend. "I just don't see why you insist on proving your street accreditation by gallivanting around town with a crowbar looking for a _Lexus_ and threatening defenseless, albeit extremely grating, associates in the name of finding out more about the authorities that are trying to apprehend us."

Santana started clenching and unclenching the fist on her lap, clearly teetering on another angry outburst. It wouldn't be long until the Latina's control slipped and everything boiled over, so Rachel absently shook her cup, trying to judge how much of the beverage was left.

Not surprisingly, something as inconsequential as the sound of liquid sloshing against the sides of the cup was what sent Santana over the edge. The Latina's head whipped quickly over to look at Rachel, who bravely—or stupidly—stared back at her.

"Berry, seriously, it is too early for your spiels and ideals," the Latina growled, as her eyes started rapidly darkening with rage. "I'm two seconds away from shooting you and breaking into your apartment and setting fire to that damn piano that takes up way too much space!"

Rachel calmly took another sip from her cup, as she attempted to determine if Santana was serious or not. When she came to the conclusion that she wasn't—after all, Santana had always been more bark than bite, at least with her—Rachel decided to argue her point a little more.

"While at times I find myself admiring your dedication to defending all things violent, I must again insist that you refrain from using your fists, or in this case a can of gasoline and a lighter, and use your words instead. Besides, your threat just lands farce. I just don't understand why you'd break in when Brittany has a key."

When Santana looked about ready to light her on fire instead of the piano—face red, eyes dark and jaw clenched at what could only be a painful angle—Rachel decided that the last comment questioning the validity of her threat might've been a bit much.

"That's it," Santana snarled and reached down to her left ankle, looking for the small .22 caliber pistol she had strapped there no matter where she went.

Rachel smiled at her friend's proclivity, despite her claims of being deeply mysterious, defensive, withholding and emotionally locked down.

"I had Brittany take it from you before we left," the tiny brunette explained loftily. "We're already in a stolen car, it wouldn't be advantageous to push our luck with an unregistered firearm as well."

Santana started yelling in Spanish in retaliation, and Rachel caught maybe every other word—using the little knowledge she had from her high school language class—until finally the words became understandable.

"I can't take this anymore. I'll fuckin' risk it to get the hell out of here."

When the door slammed, shaking the entire frame of the car, Rachel smiled brightly and followed after her. Santana's strides were rather furious in their pace so Rachel begrudgingly started to jog in her heels in an attempt to catch up.

Santana was at the front door waiting for her, which Rachel smiled at gently. Since that day, almost a lifetime ago, when they first became friends and Santana promised to always be there for her, the Latina always had. She was the only person in Rachel's life, who hadn't ever let her down—no matter how much they didn't get along—and Rachel knew she didn't exactly make it easy.

"About freakin' time. You and Brittany need to stop buying shoes, especially when they're as ridiculous as those. I almost liked you better as a fashion reject in high school. At least when you wore penny loafers, you kept up."

Both looked down at the _Louboutins_, Rachel and Brittany had bought last week before Santana ripped open the door.

Behind it was one long hallway, painted an off white with a couple dark blue doors on each side that lead to places unknown. Santana seemed to know where she was going through and she purposely strode into the hall, the heels of her boots echoing around them in the rather confining space.

Rachel quickly followed after her with a disgruntled look while she defended her shoes. "Oh, yes, and you buying an excessive amount of sports cars to keep in a temperature controlled warehouse, just so you can gaze at them like you do Brittany, is not ridiculous at all."

Santana whirled around to look at her. "Cars certainly get me more action than your closet full of shoes. Who has a smokin' hot dancer girlfriend and who is desperate enough to get weak in the knees for the cop trying to put us in jail?"

Rachel crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance at such an allegation against her character. "Please, if it wasn't for me, you'd still be sleeping around with half the women in New York." Rachel's voice then quickly lost its edge, almost coming out in a whisper. "Besides, I told you I'm not ready for anything serious."

Santana just nodded slightly and made an unintelligible noise in the back of her throat before whipping open the heavy door at the end of the hall.

Kurt Hummel wasn't hard to find, sitting in the exact middle of the room amongst an outlandish amount of satin and lace in a fitting hodgepodge of rainbow colours. His usually immaculate sandy brown hair was in extreme disarray—standing on end, almost like he'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket—and the naturally pale skin of his cheeks was red from over exertion. Various sketches were posted on giant bulletin boards set up strategically around the large loft space in between sowing machines and racks of clothes.

When Santana walked further into the room, the echo of her heels caused his head to snap up and fabric flew in the air around him as he jumped to his feet.

"Hummel, you look like one of the Keebler elves. Does that shirt even come in men's?" Santana barked, the sharp tone to her voice put everybody on edge.

Rachel supposed the evergreen long-sleeved sweater and the dark, almost burgundy red bow tie, kind of did make him look overly festive. He had layered the sweater with a light salmon dress shirt to take the edge off the complimentary colours, but Santana probably wasn't so interested in that.

"Excuse me! This is Italian knit!" he screeched, his face pinched in an almost comical outrage until he seemed to realize who he was dealing with. "Um…is there something…I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Santana growled, taking a couple more steps toward him, so she was centimetres away from his fabric circle. "You can start by telling us exactly what you told the cops about us."

"Darling," he laughed loudly while his eyes scanned the room, probably looking for an escape route. "I would never do such a thing. I cannot—"

"Lie again," Santana taunted evenly—like the calm before the storm—while she reached behind her back and pulled out another gun from underneath her shirt, "and I'll shoot you."

"What!" Rachel yelled, her heels rapidly clicking against the hardwood as she approached. "Where did you get that? I specifically told Brittany to check everywhere before we left." She then turned to Kurt, who was staring at the gun with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, she's not going to shoot you. We just need to know what you said for—"

"Berry," Santana yelled, turning towards the tiny brunette who had come up on her side. "Stay out of this. For once in your life, get your ginormous nose out of my business."

Rachel gasped loudly and a hand immediately flew up to inspect her face. "It's not that big…I mean I know it is a little bigger than most but I find that it perfectly celebrates my heritage as a strong Jew—"

"Hummel," Santana interrupted icily and Rachel uncharacteristically kept quiet, even though being cut off was one of her top five pet peeves. "You got three seconds to give it up and if you don't, you will not like the alternative."

She raised the gun level to his head to emphasize her point. Kurt quickly looked to Rachel for help and the tiny brunette just shifted her gaze away with a small frown. It was the tone of Santana's voice and Rachel knew she couldn't do anything, regardless of how she felt.

It was just a canon in their friendship—when Santana was like this, Rachel didn't ask questions. Despite all her bravado, Santana would never really harm a person, unless she felt it was necessary, and she felt it was this time. Kurt talking to the police directly endangered the people Santana cared about, so this retaliation wasn't at all surprising. Rachel just hoped Kurt listened because at least then, there might be a chance of talking Santana out of whatever she was planning on doing.

"I…" Kurt stumbled backwards, further into his pile of fabric, with fearful eyes. "My bodyguards will be back at any moment. You should really leave before then."

Santana slowly shook her head with a smug smirk on her face. "Sorry, Hummel, but no. You really think I got to be where I am by making stupid mistakes like not knowing you have boy toys with automatics? They're a little held up at the moment, Brittany's really good at that."

Kurt's face paled considerably and he again pleadingly looked at Rachel. The tiny brunette just shook her head and said, "Just tell us please."

He looked back and forth between the two women, swallowing nervously. "I…I didn't want to. You have to know that I had no choice. They were threatening Emilio's line and I love him and—"

"I don't care why you did it," Santana said dangerously. "I want to know what you said."

Kurt nodded quickly, desperately trying to appease the volatile Latina staring him down murderously through a barrel of a gun. "They had me on a deal I did last year. They told me if I told them about you, they'd let me go and my name's all over Emilio's business financially and I couldn't risk an arrest. It would ruin him."

Santana rolled her eyes, clearly aggravated by the guy's rambling. "What did they want to know?"

"They were really interested in your music company and I told them I didn't have any idea about it, besides liking some of your artists," Kurt explained quickly, while Rachel preened at the compliment to their musical talent. "Then they asked me about that Matisse I fenced for you last year. They had no proof about it, I got the impression they were going off second hand information of rumours—"

"You know who this source is?" Santana questioned gruffly, but she stopped pointing the gun at him so he promptly answered in hopes it would stay that way.

"They didn't say," when the hand with the gun twitched, Kurt hurried to add, "but, it could be the girl that flipped on me. Mercedes, she was a referral. I don't know anything else."

Santana glanced at Rachel, who just subtly shook her head. "And the jewelry store?"

"They needed something to drop the charges. I told them I heard you were behind it, that's it. I swear," Kurt said earnestly, looking back and forth between the women again, desperate for them to believe him.

Santana stared at him for a moment longer, before shrugging her shoulders. "You're lucky Berry likes you because I really wanted to shoot you. You should thank her, don't you think?"

Kurt quickly looked to Rachel with wide relieved eyes. "Uh…thank you."

The pint-sized brunette beamed brightly in response. "You're welcome. Anything for a fan of our label."

Santana shook her head, clearly bemused by the statement. "Lets go, Berry," she sighed before turning back to Kurt and waving the gun in his face again. "If there's a next time, even her pathological need for attention won't help you."

Kurt furiously nodded.

As the girls made their way out, Rachel kept glancing nervously at Santana. She was always a little off-kilter after seeing that side of her friend. Rachel naturally avoided confrontation—preferring to grin and bear it until the conflict ended—unless she was bantering with Santana, since their arguments always stemmed from some place of twisted affection.

But, when things got bad, like today, Santana took over and Rachel let her. She knew the only reason Kurt was alive right now was because she was there and the dark tint to Santana's eyes could only mean the Latina wasn't done.

"What are we doing now?" Rachel asked timidly with an almost resigned slump to her shoulders.

This was Santana's wheelhouse, playing the game and making sure they never got caught. Rachel planned the heists and with a big one coming up, she knew she'd have to reluctantly follow along with whatever Santana wanted.

The Latina looked at her with a small mischievous smirk and she said, "You're making a phone call."

It took a moment for Rachel to connect the dots and when she did she quickly looked away guiltily. "Well, actually, it's kind of advantageous that you brought such a circumstance up…"

Santana's eyes narrowed before she threw her hands up in exasperation. "Oh my God, call Brittany. I need a drink."

"Santana, it's not even noon," Rachel exclaimed incredulously with a diminutive shake of her head. "You know, that is a glaringly obvious sign of an underlying alcoholic condition. I think it would be beneficial for you to talk to someone. I'm told the first step to recovery is admittance of a problem."

Santana just growled and angrily stomped toward the car. Rachel followed leisurely after her with a small smile on her face.


	3. Part 3

**A/N:** _Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, it is always really fun to read people's reactions to what I write. It's never what I expect it to be and I kind of love that it's not. Review if you want more...the next chapter will definitely be more eventful._

**Part 3**

They first met Brittany as a result of how everything impulsive happened in Rachel's life: Santana's ill-advised plans for world domination. Rachel was depressed—the woman she'd been with for three years had just left her—and Santana was annoyed by Rachel's month-long stint as a recluse in her apartment. So, the Latina had arrived one night with her usual angry flare, dragged Rachel out of bed, only to viciously attack her with a hand shower, and somehow they ended up outside a strip club an hour later.

It had been a classier club. No bright florescent signs advertising live nudes with a woman's leg kicking up in the air, just an inconspicuous back door and a beefy looking bouncer that recognized Santana right away. The place was pleasantly lit, the music wasn't ear-splittingly loud and the patrons were a lot less sleazy than Rachel had been anticipating.

She was sure the private rooms upstairs—that Santana had no doubt used a frequent number of times—were where all the real depravity could be found. After all, that was Santana's answer to heartbreak. Sex and strippers had always been how her best friend dealt with every bad feeling in her life before she had decided on monogamy.

It didn't matter that Rachel hadn't wanted to be there and it certainly didn't matter that the whole night hadn't helped her at all. Santana had never really been good at comfort and compassion—usually just offering a couple tactless comments to 'get over it' as conciliation—yet she had went out of her way to do more that night. Rachel hadn't wanted to disappoint her and when Rachel's first attempt to escape had ended with Santana threatening to dump a pound of ground beef on her while she was sleeping, she hadn't wanted to take any chances.

Brittany was the fourth lap dance Santana had tried to buy her in their time at the strip club. The others had been relatively easy to talk her way out of—because Santana was all too happy to reap the benefits—but Brittany was pretty much impossible. Rachel had made the mistake of complimenting the showmanship of the blonde's stage show earlier in the night and Santana took that as open season for another attempt at a dance.

The blonde came over right away—all legs and smoky eyes—and Rachel had visibly swallowed. Brittany was certainly her type—tall, blonde and gorgeous—but still, Rachel had tried to decline. Brittany was extremely persistent, though, especially after Santana had told her of the circumstances of the break-up.

Oddly enough, Santana hadn't looked interested in the blonde at all and if Rachel had been able to see passed her own pain that night, the endless stream of Brittany look-a-likes that had come out of Santana's apartment for months afterward, probably could've been avoided. Hanging out at a strip club every Friday for three months—until Rachel finally just told Brittany to ask Santana out—could almost certainly have been cut out too.

Looking back, it was all still quite amusing. It seemed only fitting that Santana would find her happily ever after in the ashes of Rachel's own. She just liked seeing Santana happy. It had been a rare sight over the years, and whether the Latina believed it or not, she probably deserved it more than anybody.

"Rach," Brittany's voice called out, breaking her from her thoughts.

She turned around, from where she was standing in her walk in closet, when the distinct sound of the front door slamming resonated throughout her apartment.

"In here," she yelled before turning back to look at the clothes hanging around her.

Rachel had yet to pick out an appropriate shirt to match the outfit she had spread out on the bed. While her fashion sense had certainly come a long way from the animal sweaters and argyle she wore in high school, she still had some difficulty making casual, sexy.

Dressing for the office or the multitude of parties she frequented to cultivate her career was relatively easy. She had a stylist for the latter and the former wasn't extremely difficult, it was everything else that caused the trouble, well, if she didn't have Brittany. The blonde was a godsend for hiding her inadequacy with clothes from everyday people and as Brittany bounced into the room, Rachel's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Hey," Rachel said quietly while Brittany glanced at the skinny jeans that were laid out on the bed.

It only took Brittany a couple steps until she appeared beside her, quickly taking in the white silky robe Rachel had put on after her shower earlier.

"San, doesn't wear the red one I got her," Brittany sighed with a slight pout for good measure. "She wears that fugly black one, she's had for like ever."

Rachel smiled. "She's a creature of habit and refuses to except change. Sometimes I think she believes she can beat the whole concept into submission."

The blonde tilted her head to the side and lightly giggled before her kind azure eyes darted around the closet in search of the perfect accompaniment for what was already picked out.

"The jeans are nice but we need to go really sexy with the shirt," Brittany finally said, taking a step toward the rack at the far end of the closet that housed the majority of Rachel's tops.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean by that, Brittany. We're only going to dinner and I fear that your choice might be inappropriate for the setting—"

"Berry, you're showing some skin," Santana barked, as she stalked purposely into the room. "Don't be a prude."

When the Latina flopped down on her bed—surprisingly not on top of the jeans—Rachel huffed in annoyance and walked to the threshold of the closet, so she could glare at her best friend. "I refuse to let you bait me with such tactless lies, Santana. I don't even understand—"

"That's because you're always the fruit out of the loop," Santana laughed, clearly quite pleased with her witty remark, as she watched Rachel's eyes narrow in fury.

"Says the person that had the bright idea to be a bounty hunter when I told you to get a hobby," Rachel scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "Clearly, I'm not the one with—"

"Rach," Brittany interrupted, causing the tiny brunette to whirl around and put her back to Santana, "you need to look hot, like a girl. Don't worry, I won't let Santana dress you in leather. I know how you don't like that."

Rachel gasped indignantly. "I can't believe you just insinuated that I'm lacking in femininity. Did Santana tell you about high school? Those nicknames were completely unfounded in their relevance to my gender because I assure you—"

"Berry, shut up," Santana groaned, staring helplessly up at the ceiling. "Nobody's calling you Man-Hands, and definitely not RuPaul. What Brit was trying to say, before you jumped on your usual crazy train, was that your Quinnie likes the view of your legs unobstructed and since they will be, you need to overcompensate."

Sighing softly, Rachel tried to figure out why she was listening to Santana in the first place. Avoiding the embarrassment, of the fleeting fearful feelings for names she hadn't heard for almost a decade, seemed to be a good candidate for an answer. It was probably always going to be a touchy topic for her, unfortunately. Her adolescence wasn't the happiest time to remember, it was only marginally better than her childhood.

Rachel shook her head, almost like she was trying to shake her thoughts out. "I don't see how you can—"

"I found it!" Brittany cried and after a brief pause the blonde appeared behind Rachel, gently pushing her into the room, so Brittany could present them with her chosen piece of clothing.

A strappy deep purple blouse hung from the hanger in Brittany's hand. The faint pleading around the waist and the dangerously low neckline undeniably made it anything but prudish. With the jeans she had already picked out, even Rachel knew she'd look good, yet she was still apprehensive.

"Are you sure this is the correct course of action to take? First impressions are extremely important and exceedingly hard to overcome. I don't want to give Quinn the wrong idea about my intentions because—"

"Berry, dressing like that could only give her the right intentions," Santana sighed before rolling over on her side, so Rachel had a perfect view of the exasperation on her face. "You're trying to seduce her and you need all the help you can get. Trust me, I sat through your last painful attempt and it was about as sexy as you sticking your ass up in the air and crying out to be gang banged."

"You can't just come up with asinine—"

"Yes, I can, and your glares aren't ever going to stop me from interrupting you, they just make it more fun for me, actually," exclaimed Santana, almost preening in her overconfidence. "Now, as much as it pains me to admit, you're our only shot at accessing the NYPD mainframe, so we can look up that, Mercedes, chick. Therefore, we do things my way because I always get what I want."

Rachel absently scrunched up her nose at Santana's supercilious comments before shaking her head in exasperation. "Why must you be so volatile? Clearly I'm quite sufficient at some part of the art of seduction, since as you previously mentioned, I'm our only hope. I just…is this really necessary? Can't we just pay somebody to hack in to the database for us? That would certainly be more efficient than leading Quinn on, wouldn't it? Besides, she's an experienced detective, it seems highly unlikely that she would just hand over such information."

Santana rolled her eyes and was about to insult Rachel again for questioning her plan, when she spotted the reproachful look on Brittany's face. She reluctantly switched tactics.

"You have to do this. Artie's out of the game, since Tina left him all depressed and shit. Besides, after Hummel, it's better to just do this ourselves."

Brittany's face scrunched up, clearly distressed by the news. "But, I liked them being together," the blonde said softly with a small frown.

Santana immediately bounced up off the bed, her eyes now on Brittany, as she made her way over to make sure the blonde was okay. Rachel smiled at the sight, as the Latina seemed to transform before her eyes, and take Brittany carefully in her arms. The usual prang in her heart, a longing for the same intimacy with another, made her drop her eyes and turn to retrieve her jeans instead.

She had just managed to succeed in her struggle of pulling them on, when Brittany started talking again. "San, I don't like your plan. You didn't tell me Rachel liked her. Why didn't you tell me?"

Rachel head snapped up, her eyes wide, and she could almost feel the tension radiating off of Santana once again. When the Latina pulled away from Brittany, Rachel knew without a doubt that this was going to light another fuse, one she had no intention of being a part of.

She quickly tried to rectify the situation as best she could. "Brittany, I assure you that—"

"Berry," Santana interrupted with a small shake of her head, "don't try to lie. You suck at it when you're not trying to steal something, which by the way is incredibly fucked up, and you're still doing this. I don't care what—"

"No," Brittany exclaimed and both brunettes looked over at her, shocked by the outburst. "That isn't fair."

Santana seemed conflicted, her face masked with concern and aggravation, while Rachel just smiled, somewhat relieved Brittany wasn't going to let her take Santana on alone. Truthfully, she didn't even know if she wanted to.

"B," Santana said gently, "this is important. If Rachel doesn't do it then we might get caught."

The blonde frowned, seemingly still not impressed by Santana's reasoning. "But, San, if she does that the detective woman will be mad at her. Then Rachel will never be happy. I want her to be happy."

Rachel smiled softly at Brittany. The blonde took that as a sign to bounce over and give the tiny brunette a hug, much to Santana's chagrin. When they continued to ignore her, the Latina growled slightly, drawing the other two's attention away from each other.

"Berry, you've only known her for like a day, half of which you were lying to her for. There's a plan and you never freakin' follow the plan. I know you're completely mental, but even you can't think that Quinn Fabray is worth going to jail for."

Rachel and Brittany watched Santana pace back and forth in front of them, with her violent hand gestures and off topic tangents muttered in Spanish under her breath. Finally, when Rachel realized the Latina had no intention of saying anything else in English, she hesitantly stepped away from Brittany and shrugged.

"I don't know if she's worth all that but I'd like to find out," Rachel said softly, causing Santana to halt her movements but she still refused to make eye contact, so Rachel continued to babble. "I know that the thought of a relationship with Quinn is far from ideal, if consideration is given to particular…outside influences in our lives, but I want to at least attempt to try. I haven't really done anything risky with my heart, since Andrea left and I think it's time to. I want to...be with someone for more than just coffee. I'll still do this though, if that's what you want, because I don't—"

"Stop," murmured Santana, raising her hand up to get her point across. Rachel's mouth snapped shut and she smiled slightly up at Brittany when the blonde squeezed her hand encouragingly. "I really don't want to hear anymore, I'm already feeling nauseous. Just…find somebody else with the access we need and never speak of this again."

Rachel and Brittany both beamed brightly at the news and simultaneously launched themselves at Santana, latching onto her before she could react to their wide-eyed excitement. Brittany was jumping up and down eagerly, with her arms overlapping Rachel's around Santana's waist. It was the only reason the Latina hadn't managed to break free from Rachel's hold yet.

"I love that you love me, Santana," Rachel taunted, completely ignoring the exaggerated cry of agony from her friend. "It's not surprising, of course, after all, I've been told that I'm quite loveable a countless number of times."

Santana was completely helpless in Brittany's abnormally strong hold, probably muscle built from her past life as a stripper to pay for dance school. Rachel blabbing on about how great she was didn't exactly go over well either, even though the pint-sized brunette tended to do it more than five times a day.

"Berry, I'm going to hurt you," Santana warned, narrowing her eyes in frustration when neither girl seemed to hear her, as they were still excitedly plastered to her sides.

"Everybody loves everybody!" Brittany blurted out joyfully and it only served to encourage the tiny brunette, while Santana just once again groaned in protest.

Rachel nodded eagerly. "Yes, this blatant display of affection for me can only lead to more love."

Santana just stared ahead and reveled in the many ways she could retaliate, when they finally let her go.

She was looking forward to it already.


	4. Part 4

**A/N:** _This starts the first round of updates for all my stories that will be happening throughout the next week. The Faberry date will be next, so review if you want more._

****

Part 4

Rachel walked into the precinct and immediately spotted exactly who she was looking for. His dopey smile and awkward limbs, as he fumbled with some papers on his desk, were like flares in a starless sky. The ability to pick out the most susceptible with only a fleeting glance was unfortunately a skill Santana had spent countless hours painstakingly honing.

Growing up, they spent the majority of their time at the mall, since it was probably the safest place to be that didn't require payment to hang around. They never really bought anything—Santana's five-finger discount wasn't exactly the same—but they did watch a lot of other people purchase things.

Santana would take her into a store at random and make her tell her exactly what a customer was going to buy. They wouldn't leave the mall until she got a person in every store right, even the ones that went in wanting nothing at all. Rachel always hated doing it, still hated looking at a person and judging them based on their outward appearance to the world. People had been doing that to her all her life—so she knew exactly how it felt—but after a while Rachel learned that most of the time life was made up of a lot of things that she really didn't want to do.

The dopey guy's head flew up in her direction at the sound of her heels echoing around the room. His bright blue eyes tracked her arrival, as he quickly ran a hand through his short dark hair in an attempt to make himself a little more presentable.

Rachel was half-expecting him to whip out a mirror, when he sprang up from his chair—the ancient piece of wood threatening to crumble to pieces with a loud disgruntled groan—and stumbled uncoordinatedly toward her with the grace of a bull in a china shop. His exuberance was almost charming and it helped distract from the fact that his motor functions hadn't quite caught up to the giant size of his body just quite yet.

He was the only one in the bullpen at the moment—thankfully a guest spot on _Law and Order_ back in the early days of her career afforded her with the correct terminology—but there were seven other empty desks paired off and facing each other throughout the room. Those big whiteboards on wheels were scattered around as well, almost one to every pair of desks and then a giant one was pasted against the far wall to keep track of open and closed cases.

It all seemed pretty mundane—personally she had expected more from the headquarters of her adversaries—and holy Barbra the slate coloured walls were just tragic. She couldn't help but wonder if Homicide Division had it better. A nice marigold yellow on the walls seemed completely plausible to brighten the days of people dealing with murder and death throughout the workweek. With insurance, robberies were almost essentially victimless crimes—petty thievery was too insulting to the craft to count—so if severity was how wall colour was determined by the NYPD, slate did seem kind of fitting on the brightness scale for Robbery Division.

"Hi, I'm Finn, Detective Finn…I mean, Detective Hudson," he stammered excitedly as he finally reached her with the same silly smile still plastered to his face, though it had turned a little sheepish in light of his greeting. "Can I help you with something?"

She looked up at him, giving him a shy smile and flipping her hair back, just like Brittany had told her during Santana's mandatory—by threat of death—seminar on seduction before she left. He almost seemed to teeter dangerously in response and Rachel had to quell her innate reaction to jump backward to save herself from being clobbered if he actually did go down.

Instead, she nodded, biting her lip slightly and battling her eyelashes. Rachel couldn't help wondering how Santana thought this could possibly work in between.

"I'm actually here to inquire about someone. Do you think you could assist me?"

If it was possible, Finn seemed even taller, as he straightened up and nodded eagerly to show her he was the man for the job. "Sure, just tell me who it is and I can totally help find them. It's too bad you weren't looking for me, 'cause I'd be easy to find because I'm right here."

Rachel wasn't exactly sure if he was joking with her or being completely serious. At any rate, it was sincere—the gleaming authenticity to his eyes was hard to argue with—so Rachel responded to that.

She reached out, making sure to touch his forearm to initiate the casual contact she'd learned in the tutorial, and said, "Yes, that is unfortunate but if I ever return, I'll know exactly where to find you."

Finn smiled cheerily in response with this glazed over look that let Rachel know he didn't understand the majority of what she said. He nodded enthusiastically anyway though and the vain, attention seeking fraction of herself couldn't help but find his eagerness to please her attractive. In another life, Rachel could definitely see herself wanting him desperately.

"Yeah, for sure," Finn exclaimed before quickly looked around and settling his eyes back on her. "Um…do you want to sit down or…oh who was it you were looking for? I can't remember if you told me or not."

She nodded slightly and followed Finn back toward his desk. She was still a few steps behind him—thanks to his abnormally long legs—so he was able to produce another battered chair from somewhere previously unknown and set it beside his desk before she arrived. Finn waved his giant arms towards it prior to sitting down in his own chair with a loud thump. The chair furiously protested and Rachel was sure to sit daintily on hers, just in case.

He was looking at her, waiting eagerly for her to speak, and Rachel smiled, surprisingly without much thought. She knew it was that part of her that wanted the steadfast adoration he was offering, but the fact still remained that liking him made this a lot more difficult than she had anticipated. Nevertheless, she was Rachel Berry and there was no way she was going to back down, especially not during one of Santana's plans.

"Quinn Fabray, I suppose Detective Fabray if you wanted to be formal, which I'm hoping won't be the case soon enough," Rachel rambled and when she noticed the disappointed look on his face, she acted like she was surprised that she saw it there. "Is something wrong? Can you not locate her? I think I'm early—"

"No, I mean, yes I can find her, nothing's wrong," he sighed with a small shake of his head. "I must've messed up the messages again, sorry. Her and her partner are questioning a suspect. I didn't think she had the night off tonight."

Rachel smiled, nodding absently. She, of course, already knew where Quinn was. The blonde had told her during their call to explain how busy she really was. Arriving early had all been about looking for a guy like Finn, and unfortunately, it would never quite be for the reasons he wanted.

"She doesn't," informed Rachel with almost an amused twinge to her lips, "but I convinced her to allow me to accompany her to dinner on her break."

Finn glanced over to a desk across the room nearest to the whiteboard on the wall—Rachel imagined that it was Quinn's—before looking back at her with another giant smile.

"She works a lot," he admitted with a slight nod. "Hopefully she didn't forget about your dinner, she gets distracted by work a lot too. They're on this big case, so she might've, but if she did, don't worry, I can go with you."

Rachel looked at him, completely floored by his lack of tact. That small part of her that wanted him, briefly acknowledged that his ignorance would get more annoying than she might be able to handle after a while. Everything else was trying not to take the unintentional bait he had provided but she couldn't help herself. She was curious by nature and even the threat of Santana soaking all her shoes in beef broth for deviating from the plan was slowly losing against Rachel's need to know everything.

And then, finally the dam just broke. Rachel leaned in conspiringly; biting her lip, almost like she was sure Santana would pop out from underneath a desk with a soup can in one hand and one of Rachel's most prized _Jimmy Choos_ in the other.

"Case? She never mentioned that. Of course, I probably wouldn't be able to comprehend the majority of it, so I suppose that might be why she felt it necessary to forgo discussing it. Maybe you could try to explain it to me though. I have, after all, taken countless roles as characters in law enforcement," she said quickly in a hushed whisper for dramatic effect.

Finn looked genuinely confused, almost like he didn't realize the implication of his previous words. Rachel waited impatiently, as she watched him replay his statement in his head more than once, until finally a light came on.

He smiled brightly, almost excited at the prospect of sharing a secret that could impress and maybe win him the girl in return. Rachel knew then that Santana was going to kill her if she ever found out—this was so far off the reservation of the plan it wasn't even laughable—but she hoped Santana would be a bit more forgiving if she had information about Quinn's case against them to share in return.

"It's a robbery crew, two of them, maybe three. Q's been on it off the record for a while until Capt'n gave her the case last week. She found a suspect or something; I'm not sure. She doesn't really talk to me much, only Puck, sometimes," Finn explained with a slight tilt of his head. "I'm working on a case about cab robberies. I can tell you more about that, if you want?"

Rachel tried not to show how distressing the news was, especially now that she had decided to invest more in this than a game of cops and robbers. She was genuinely interested in pursuing Quinn. There was just something about her that drew Rachel in, even in the current reality that the blonde was working towards arresting her and coming closer than most ever had.

Their brief first meeting—in the midst of Santana's snarky comments and Puck's creepy leering—when almost everything they both said to each other were lies, she had felt something. Rachel had thought Quinn did too but Finn was doing a good job at making her think otherwise. Still, she couldn't help but hope he was wrong.

"Uh, no, that won't be necessary. It sounds like Quinn's good at her job," Rachel offered with a small smile because if anything she was sure of that.

Finn's whole face seemed to fall when he realized his plan to amaze had somehow gone awry. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though his narrowed eyes just made him look bitter. "She's okay, I guess, but I think I could totally be better. I could, you know, show you, if you want, like dinner or something?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise because she hadn't actually expected him to come out and ask her. Unfortunately, this was the moment that Santana had made her repeat ten times, so it would almost make her feel invested in breaking his heart. It wasn't really working but she needed to do it before Quinn appeared to take her out. Despite everything, all of her still wanted to give the blonde a chance and that small part that was attracted to Finn had no way to compete.

"Finn," she started, letting his name and her aggravated tone fall between them, "I can't imagine why you'd ask me such a thing, when I'm clearly here for a date with one of your colleagues. It's completely inappropriate and I tried to be the bigger person and ignore your previous blatant disregard for gentlemanly conduct but I cannot any longer. I'll put it as plainly as I possibly can: please stop with your advances, I'm not interested."

His mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water and Rachel tried her best not to flinch at the wounded look he was giving her. She couldn't even blame Santana because Rachel was the one that picked Quinn over Finn. Sure at the time, Finn was just a faceless employee of the NYPD, but it was him all the same.

"Rachel?" Quinn's voice said from behind her and Rachel was glad for any excuse to get away from the dejected looks of Finn Hudson. Of course, the reason being Quinn was definitely a lot nicer. "You're early. I just need to change—"

"No," Rachel exclaimed, jumping from her seat beside Finn and walking towards Quinn, who was still standing shocked in the mouth of the hallway she had appeared from. The tiny brunette couldn't imagine why Quinn wanted to change, when the blonde's charcoal slacks looked like they were painted on and her silky black blouse made Rachel yearn to touch to feel the warm skin underneath. "You look absolutely stunning and I already feel guilty enough for luring you away from you're work. I fear that anymore of your time spent on me could ultimately tip my karmic scale unfavorably in the light of such gluttonous greed."

Quinn smiled, clearly amused by the ramble before Puck barged in from behind them, seemingly purposely knocking the blonde aside into Rachel to get through to his desk. Rachel swiftly nodded, when Quinn looked at her to see if she was okay, and then hazel eyes zeroed in on the aggravated guy shuffling around at his desk.

"Jeez, watch where you're going, you dumbass," the blonde growled and Puck just flipped her the bird in response.

"Whatever, Fabray," he scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly. "Have fun on your date."

Quinn rolled her eyes and quickly grabbed Rachel's hand to tug her away from the bullpen, whispering an apology for Puck's actions on the way out. The tiny brunette didn't mind the commotion, much less blamed the blonde for any of it, she was just more confused than anything. Looking back briefly, Finn's hurt looks weren't all that surprising, but Puck's angry glare definitely was. Rachel was sure she hadn't done anything to warrant such a look in the brief time he'd been at her apartment, but her personality was a lot to take in. Adolescence had taught her that.

While Quinn was hailing a cab, Rachel texted Santana and then quickly silenced her phone. Her part of the plan was done and she wanted to enjoy her time with Quinn while she could, just incase it turned into another area of her life that was all for show.


	5. Part 5

**A/N: **_I had a couple requests for a chapter about Santana's part of the plan, so as a result, the Faberry date is being split up into two parts, purely for timeline purposes only. If there is anything else you want to see, tell me. For this fic, I'm quite accommodating to almost anything. Please let me know what you think, I have two ideas for how the rest of the date will go and as of yet, I haven't made up my mind._

_Also, thanks to those who continue to review, I really appreciate every single person who does and kgleek101 for being my unoffical sounding board for this chapter._

_With that, there is only one thing left to say...SPIES!_

**Part 5**

Growing up, Rachel didn't have a lot of options for dates—she didn't have a lot of options for anything really. Her childhood was just one big audition. She was the tiny Yentl playing dress up in hideous clothes, trying to entice nameless faces with plastic smiles to take a chance on her. Ironically enough, it was the things she couldn't change—the tanned skin, her tiny stature and disproportionate nose—that had them skipping over her to another girl that better looked the part.

Her first real relationship coincided with her first real role. She was Elphaba and Andrea—her ex-girlfriend—was Glinda. Eyes met across a crowded room the first day of rehearsals and Rachel hadn't stopped drowning in their azure depths ever since. Even now, several years after their break up, Rachel still struggled to stay afloat as best as she possibly could. Their relationship had all the makings of a classic whirlwind romance, just like in the novels she had steadily read in her adolescence, but then it went horribly wrong.

Rachel knew the majority of it was her fault. Being a successful young ingénue and playing the role of a secret partner in crime left her very little time to cultivate a relationship. DangerStar Records was as much a money funneling front as it was a last ditch effort to hang onto the one she loved. When Andrea chose to leave rather than stay, Rachel supposed it was a blessing in disguise that she and Santana were actually pretty good at it.

So, it was reasonable that she be a little apprehensive, sitting next to Quinn in a cab on their way to the restaurant Rachel had picked out. She thought she'd be fine, if she could just control how the evening progressed. It was why Rachel pushed so hard on the phone instead of taking the rain check the beautiful blonde had offered.

The fact that the timeline worked for Santana's plans was just a coincidence—she had called way before they even heard Mercedes' name—but honestly it was something that Rachel was glad to have. The structure of having some type of outside purpose to walk into the precinct made it easier to forget how much she really wanted to run back out and forget Quinn ever existed.

Don't get her wrong; she really wanted to try. Rachel wanted a Brittany to spend nights with, somebody to buy flowers for or watch sappy movies with—somebody to love—but Rachel didn't have a plan to mask her nerves anymore. The comfort of an attainable goal was all but stripped away and now it was just her searching for a feeling she wasn't even sure could strike her twice.

It was scary. Rachel just didn't know if she could take rejection again and Quinn—with her stormy eyes and multifaceted gold badge—almost guaranteed heartbreak because of circumstances outside of their control. Still, Rachel was there and she wouldn't back down, even with her heart pounding nervously in her chest, almost as bad as the day she met her fathers.

"So," the innate honeyed tone to the blonde's voice shattered Rachel's inner musings and she turned to take in the impeccably shaped inquiring eyebrow and the small smile adorning Quinn's face,"any chance of you telling me where we're going? I'm expecting big things after all the work you put into getting me here."

Rachel's fingers abruptly stopped drumming against the arm of the cab door and she tilted her head to the side in an attempt to simulate the illusion she was thinking it over. Quinn was looking at her curiously, even somewhat hopeful and Rachel felt the rapid beat of her heart start to slow while she formulated a response.

"I was under the impression that to be a detective one must have the ability to 'detect' in times of mystery and from what I've gathered you're an exceptional one." Rachel paused to give a shy smile and slowly leaned closer into the blonde's personal space, an inevitable result in the limited backseat of a cab. "So why don't you tell me of these 'big things' you're anticipating and I'll tell you if you're correct in your assumptions?"

The blonde's smile grew and Rachel unconsciously mirrored it when Quinn's cheeks tinted pink under the praise. Somehow, with out even trying, Quinn had her forgetting all about her reservations from before and once again Rachel was utterly charmed by the mysterious detective with just a few simple words.

"I would figure it out if I could," Quinn said softly, a more reserved smile firmly in place, "but you Rachel Berry are a complete mystery to me and I'd have no idea where to start."

Rachel giggled loudly, throwing her head back against the seat behind her, while Quinn just seemed to be amused by the display of joviality from the tiny brunette.

"I highly doubt that, Quinn," said Rachel, her eyes brighter than most had ever seen them. "My whole life story and pictures of my breasts can be found online with a simple search of my name. I appreciate your attempts at pretending to be completely oblivious to that fact though."

In all actuality, with Quinn's investigation, the blonde probably knew a lot more than anything yielded by a _Google_ search, even by her fathers to some extent. Maybe that sense of liberation was what attracted her to Quinn in the first place, Rachel didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted to make the effort for the gorgeous blonde, the kind of effort she'd only made once before.

"You're half naked on the Internet?" Quinn mocked gasped, bringing her hand to cover her mouth to complete the teasing gesture.

"Ha, ha, very witty. Be sure to be proud of yourself when I transfer you to my assistant tomorrow when you call to arrange date number two," Rachel threatened while biting her lip to stop herself from laughing at the slight frown on Quinn's face at the news.

"How do you know I'll even want another date?"

The blonde looked dubious but the tiny quirk of her lips took the sting away effortlessly, much to Rachel's delight.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel sighed, almost patronizingly, before shaking her head. "If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm not somebody easily forgotten."

Sometimes, anyway, Rachel added silently. Depending on when you asked her, the answer definitely varied. Being a successful thief wasn't exactly possible with a lot of remembrance but as a celebrity it was necessary to survive. Her life was full of extremes and everything in between: a Broadway darling, the girl yearning to be noticed and sometimes a shadow on a wall.

But, for all extensive purposes, tonight, she was the Rachel everybody knew on the cover of magazines. At least, she hoped she could be because Quinn was making it so difficult with the smiles and the delightful banter. Rachel just had to be sure that this wasn't the game that Finn unknowingly alluded to and Santana didn't want to mention before she dropped the bravado of her mask completely.

When Quinn leaned in and grasped her arm in an almost feather light touch, Rachel looked up curiously into the shining hazel eyes.

"Oh I know," the blonde whispered, smirking slightly. "If the computers in the precinct didn't load so damn slow, I'd have been remembering you for a lot longer than just tonight."

Rachel gasped loudly, leaning back to look at the clearly pleased look on the other woman's face. It was so triumphant that Rachel's patented rant died on her lips in favour of a smile. Quinn was charming her with ease, much to Rachel's chagrin.

"Do you like Chinese?" Rachel said instead, amused by the confused furrow of the blonde's forehead, the self-satisfied smirk now nowhere in sight.

"Um…I guess, yeah."

The blonde had clearly been expecting a rant of some kind. Rachel was curious as to how Quinn knew she'd be getting one, but then that part of Rachel's personality was certainly transparent. She had spoken out about gender equality hundreds of times, using some of the more negative comments people have thrown at her during her time on the stage baring her chest night after night as a go to example.

"Great, so the usual items, nothing specific?" Quinn shook her head and Rachel smiled in response to the blonde's continued confused demeanor before turning to look toward the cab driver. "Can you stop at the lights? I'll just be a second."

"Your dime lady," the man answered back gruffly with a non-committing shrug.

He had his Yankee's cap pulled down low and that coupled with the dimness inside the cab made it extremely hard for Rachel to make out his face. Judging from the amount of coffee cups crammed in the cup holders up front, he'd been up for a while. His attitude was polite as anything she'd get in New York anyway.

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Quinn, giving her a small placating smile. "I'll be back, I just have to pick up dinner. I called ahead, so I'll be back rather quickly but I am happy to know that Chinese was a winning choice, though admittedly it usually is."

Rachel left before Quinn could do anything more but nod. Thankfully, her order was waiting for her when she arrived but then Rachel really had no doubt. They were always rather prompt for delivery—Santana refused to eat anything from the region of China if it wasn't from Mr. Chao's because she liked the irony—so pick-up should be no different. Rachel made sure to tip extra to a smiling Mrs. Chao, who dealt with Santana's petulant demands for extra fortune cookies daily because Brittany liked to eat them for breakfast.

Quinn was scrolling through her _Blackberry_ when Rachel slipped back into the cab and she smiled when the blonde hastily hid the device in her jacket pocket the moment the door slammed shut.

The cabby glanced back, his cap now pushed up enough for Rachel to make out the grayish blue of his eyes. "Where to?"

"Fifth and Central Park South," Rachel said quickly but the dazzling smile on Quinn's face was sign enough that she gave it away. "I suppose the cat is out of the bag so to speak."

Quinn nodded "It is."

Rachel shifted the bag on her lap—the heat from the food had managed to seep through to her skin rather quickly—her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "And is that up to your preconceived expectations for the evening or will I have to put in a call for my personal jet?"

The blonde looked at her for a lot longer than necessary and when the pause was seconds away from being awkward, Quinn smiled. "Tempting, but considering I'm still technically working, dinner with you in Central Park sounds perfect."

Rachel smiled back, utterly charmed once again.


	6. Part 6

**A/N: **_The rest of the Faberry date will follow, hopefully in a couple days. I guess it depends how motivated I am, which usually fluctuates based on demand. This really came to be because Finn annoys me and I wanted to write about it. Of course, I know there are people out there that wanted Santana's part of the plan and more Brittana, so this is for them too. Hopefully it lives up to what you're expecting, personally I kind of hate it._

**Part 6**

It was the bad genes that gave Santana the ability to drink a giant man-child under the table without breaking a sweat. She supposed she had her dear parents to thank for that and her propensity to drunk-dial Rachel at least once a week to test out the new insults for their employees as well. Really, it was the only good thing they ever did for her, if a predisposition for alcoholism could be counted as a good thing.

At any rate, it had her stumbling toward the big guy's apartment while he staggered ahead blubbering about the same thing he'd been rambling about for the past three hours. Rachel would've been thrilled to bask in the lyrics from the classic rock love ballads he was spewing forth like a poor man's Jim Morrison, but unfortunately the Diva was off chasing love instead.

So, it was just Santana and maybe those court appointed anger management classes in her youth were paying off because she had managed to refrain from smashing him over the head with a beer bottle when he started in on an hour long _Foreigner_ love song medley earlier at the bar.

Suddenly, he abruptly stopped up ahead, spinning awkwardly in a circle and crashing into a car on the side of the street when he lost his balance. It barely phased him though and he just took a deep breath, opening his mouth wide. Unfortunately Santana had seen him do it enough already to know he was about to belt out some more not so great timeless classics.

"Was it something I said or something I did? Did my words not come out right?" he slurred, flinging his arms up in the air, then pulling them in towards his chest and grasping his shirt over his heart. "Every rose has its thorn, just like every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn, ohhh."

During his big finale, he lost his footing again and his hands quickly went back onto the hood of the car when he realized he needed them to hold himself up. Santana growled dangerously, her teeth ground together sounding like a blender chopping ice. Somehow, he didn't seem to notice and she took a breath before gliding towards him to grip his arm with a flirtatious grin.

"Baby, you don't need her. You have me," she whispered into his ear, making sure to push herself against him wantonly. "I'll make you forget all about her, I promise."

"But, I don't want to forget her." He awkwardly pushed off the car and stumbled to the middle of the sidewalk, shaking his head and stomping his foot petulantly. "I want to remember her!"

Santana bit the side of her cheek to keep the insult bubbling up at bay. She didn't know how Berry did it, but she managed to find the only guy in New York that believed in the ridiculousness of love at first sight. The Berry mating ritual certainly didn't have that much game, unless she tried that love spell again. Regardless, it didn't really matter; Santana got shit done no matter what.

"Well," she drawled, slowly making her way towards him, "you're a detective. You can find her, right? Then I can help you think of a plan to win her back."

His face scrunched up in deep concentration and his bottom lip haphazardly jutted out giving him the look of a pouting toddler. One thing was for sure, Berry was like fly paper to those looking for misplaced crayons.

"I can look her up!" he yelled loudly, the light bulb finally coming on. Luckily, giant drunken lumberjacks weren't bizarre enough to earn a second look in New York during the wait. "We have a database."

"That's great." Santana quickly grabbed his arm and yanked him down the sidewalk. "Lets go."

Thankfully his apartment wasn't far, Santana could see it once they turned the corner at the top of the street. Of course, she had to act surprised when he finally fell towards a front door and had to patiently wait while he fumbled with his keys. They had to have been on the stoop for at least five minutes when finally the door started to buzz. Then he was bounding down the hallway toward his apartment door.

His place was pretty simple, just the bare essentials crammed into a tiny box-like floor plan. There was a door off to the side of the front door, which Santana imagined was the bathroom, and that was it for rooms, except for the curtains covered in _NFL_ team logos sectioning off his bed from the main room.

He had a laptop open on the coffee table and was typing furiously, so Santana quickly made her way over, forgetting all about her perusal of the sad décor. The program was still loading when she arrived and he was staring anxiously at the status bar, hunched over his knees. Santana swallowed down her reluctance and hastily pushed him onto the back onto the couch, straddling his lap.

"Why don't we have some fun while we wait," she whispered and started expertly kissing down his neck.

She could feel how much his body approved against her leg but she couldn't have the rest of him still stiff under her touch. Santana needed to get his heart beating, so she rolled her hips down onto his lap and started running her hands under his shirt. The resistance melted away pretty quickly after that and she tried to ignore how he was moving his body with hers.

Seconds later his mouth opened and he was mumbling something unintelligible into the side of her face. Clearly Santana had underestimated his ability to last and she pulled away, trying to help him hang on a bit longer so his blood would continue to rush down below. She looked at him and he was blinking rapidly, staring up at her with a dazed expression. He was still just barely jabbing into her leg, she just had to wait a little longer. Apparently, big feet didn't always translate to size between the sheets after all.

"Is…is the room spinning?" he asked, shaking his head.

Santana rolled her eyes and he went slack moments later. Frowning in disgust, she jumped off of him and studied at him for a moment before pulling out her phone. It picked up on the first ring.

"B, coast is clear. Make sure you bring the bag," she said before quickly hanging up.

Looking back toward the couch, Santana shook her head. Somehow he'd fallen face first into a cushion when she had jumped off of him. He really was a sad sight and she wondered how he ever made detective. Her brilliance and cunning were the reasons she never got caught but having an opposition that allowed a box of rocks to creep up the ranks was really disappointing somehow.

Santana turned to the door when she heard the handle turn. Brittany slipped in with a large duffle bag over her shoulder and quickly shut the door once again. The Latina quickly shuffled towards her and enveloped the blonde into a hug, pulling her as close as possible.

"Hey," Brittany giggled and squirmed slightly when Santana buried her face into her neck. "You smell like hot sauce."

"The jackass ordered four pounds of wings," the Latina mumbled still buried in the blonde's neck.

Brittany pulled away, dislodging Santana from her hiding spot and forcing her to look up at her. "Rachel's not going to be happy, he murdered twenty chickens!"

The blonde looked stricken by the thought—all wide eyes and slanted eyebrows—so Santana opened her mouth to reassure her—possibly throw in an insult Rachel's way—but quickly thought better of it. Instead, she grabbed the collar of her girlfriend's shirt, and pulled her in for a kiss.

The tiny breathy moans Brittany was exhaling into her mouth were driving Santana wild and she tried to move on to Brittany's neck but the blonde pushed her away.

"San, I want to get back to hear about Rachel's date. We can do this later," she explained before moving her head slightly to look over the Latina's shoulder at the immobile man on the couch. "Are you sure he's going to be okay?"

Santana gritted her teeth, cursing Rachel's name for everything she ruined in her life—most recently her sex life could be added to the list. This was going to make the revenge for the hug ten times worse.

"The drug will be out of his system in a couple hours, so he'll be fine, unfortunately," Santana explained, reluctantly grabbing Brittany's hand and dragging her towards him. "We need to get him on the bed soon before the brewery and chili peppers he gobbled down start to realize what a loser he is and bail."

Brittany's face scrunched up at the thought but she nodded anyway and thus began the twenty minute battle to drag Finn Hudson three feet to the bed hidden behind his football sheets. Thankfully, as mentioned previously, Brittany was freakishly strong.

When he was finally on the bed, Santana intentionally nudged Finn's body rather hard with her foot, smirking at the red mark left behind and him rolling over onto his back. "B, this place reminds me of that bathhouse I sent Berry's assistant to last week when he refused to admit to stealing my issue of _Cosmo_. I'll get the files, you decorate the beanstalk and lets get the hell out of here."

Brittany nodded and went to retrieve the bag she had brought with her and Santana started searching for the informant. The Latina was just saving the files she needed to a USB stick, when her blonde girlfriend appeared beside her.

"S," Brittany said, running a hand through her disheveled hair in a vain attempt to try to fix it, "everything's done like you said. I just…I still don't understand why you needed Rachel to hurt him."

Santana shut the laptop and stood up, offering her hand for Brittany to take. The blonde quickly grasped it and Santana gently tugged her girlfriend toward the door with a small smirk on her face.

"I didn't. It would've probably been easier and I wouldn't have to hear her whine about hurting such a gentle soul for the next week either."

Brittany frowned, clearly confused. While she was close to both women, she never really understood their relationship. It was a lot of baiting insults—Santana—and petulant complaining—Rachel—all rolled up in a series of passive aggressive tests to prove loyalty. Obviously this must've been one of those times, but it still didn't make any sense.

"I don't get it," the blonde sighed, looking up at Santana as the brunette held open the apartment door for her and quickly closed it once they were both in the hall.

"I needed to know if she was serious about this Quinn thing by making her do something she didn't want to do." Santana preened, completely enamored with her own brilliance for coming up with such a plan and the smug smirk on her face just added to the overly arrogant package. "Now I know she is and when she figures out what I did, she'll know too."

Brittany just smiled and suddenly she felt a whole lot better about leaving a guy handcuffed to a bed with only a note thanking him for sex he never had. Santana always knew just what to say to put her mind at ease.


	7. Part 7

**A/N:** _Interest in this has tapered off as of late, so please let me know if you want to see anything or just why you don't like it. My sixth sense isn't nearly as strong as Rachel's, actually it is pretty much nonexistent, so I'm gonna need a little help. This is the rest of the date...I wrote it pretty late last night, so I'm crossing my fingers that it makes sense._

**Part 7**

When the cab pulled up alongside the curb, Rachel quickly jumped out, eager for something to do to distract herself from the blonde currently stepping out next to her on the sidewalk. The cab driver cleared his throat, too blatantly to be ignored, and Rachel swiftly collected herself enough to shove some money his way without a noticeable delay. He grasped the bills tightly in his hand and glanced at Quinn—who was watching from a couple steps to Rachel's left—before turning away to maneuver his cab into traffic once again in search of a new fair.

Rachel barely hesitated to watch him go—slightly confused as to why her sizeable tip wasn't even acknowledged, much less the fair hadn't even been spared a glance at all—before shaking her head and looking up into Quinn's waiting eyes.

Quinn was amazing—charming, considerate, thoughtful, gorgeous—really everything Rachel had been hoping for, which was kind of the problem that had Rachel flying out of almost moving vehicles without a second thought. It was just too much for the tiny Diva, who was terrified of getting burned once again. It would destroy her and—whether Quinn meant to cause it or not—Rachel felt like she was headed for a crash and burn of epic proportions every time the blonde so much as looked at her, seeming to effortlessly make her heart race.

Swallowing, Rachel again pushed her reservations away—making sure to smile brightly like her inner turmoil wasn't present at all—because Rachel knew that in a matter of minutes Quinn would have her throwing caution to the wind all over again. The only way to stop it was to leave and Rachel knew she wanted it too much to go, not after everything she did to get there.

"I procured a table at _Per Se_ for tonight but when I awoke this morning I came to the conclusion that such a gesture wasn't exactly indicative of me," Rachel explained, shifting the bag in her hands to the one furthest away from Quinn.

"Really?" the blonde laughed, her eyebrow raised, saying everything she hadn't wanted to say.

Rachel smiled with a slight nod of her head, absently wondering if being up to date with what the tabloids printed about Rachel Berry was business or pleasure for Quinn. Either way, the blonde certainly knew a lot more about her career than it had seemed the first day they had met: when Quinn and Puck had showed up pretending they had no idea who she was at all.

"I know such a thing must be hard to believe with the way the media portrays my life," admitted Rachel, tilting her head to the side in thought about some of the stuff she'd read over the years. "I believe just last month I allegedly purchased Mel Gibson's private jet from his hemorrhaging estate or something equally as ridiculous. Rest assured the majority of what you hear isn't true."

"So, you're saying, you really don't have a private jet to whisk me away to Paris for dinner at the Eiffel Tower?" Quinn sighed, crossing her arms petulantly in a way that had Rachel biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"I'm sorry to say that if I ever wanted to go to Paris, I'd be flying commercially just like the rest of the world. Why one would spend an obscene amount of money on something as gaudy as a personal aircraft, I'll never know."

The two had reached the entrance of the park and Rachel absently reached out to grasp the blonde's hand, pulling her in the direction the tiny brunette wanted them to go. Quinn willingly followed, lacing their fingers together with a small smile.

"So what is Chinese in the park supposed to say about you?"

Rachel gazed up at her, momentarily distracted by the blonde's swirling hazel eyes. She wished she knew what that look meant because Rachel only wanted it to mean one thing: that this was real, that Quinn was there because she wanted this too. Unfortunately, the blonde was like a Sphinx—built like a fortress to keep people out and everything inside safe—and the irony of somebody like Rachel being interested in somebody virtually impenetrable was not lost on the tiny brunette.

"It is common knowledge that I enjoy grand gestures, it comes with the territory of being a performer after all. In the past, I lived for such occasions and I often confused extravagance for affection without a second thought." Rachel's eyes went glassy as she remembered those days in her youth—how simple gestures seemed so extravagant to her, made her feel so cared for and how wrong she ultimately was—before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. "It wasn't until later in my life when I found myself being guilty of being the one to substitute gestures for love that I realized how damaging such a practice could be for both of the parties involved. I decided afterward that I wouldn't allow myself to do such a thing again, whether I meant such a gesture or not. Hence Chinese in the park."

When Quinn didn't say anything, Rachel glanced up at her once again. The blonde seemed almost pensive—biting her bottom lip, the bright green in her hazel eyes dulled down to a murky brown—and before Rachel could say anything, Quinn seemed to snap out of it just as quickly as the look appeared.

The detective squeezed Rachel's hand gently, willing the tiny Diva to face her and come to a complete stop. The blonde's eyes were their dazzlingly colour once again and Quinn smiled so shyly, almost like she was unsure of how to do it at all. It was the most beautiful smile Rachel had ever seen and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

"I'm having a really great time," Quinn uttered softly and the brunette was almost relieved when air started to fill her lungs. "This is probably the best date I've ever been on."

Rachel wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or insanely jealous of the blonde's skill. She was realizing very quickly why Quinn was such a great detective. When she wasn't being completely charming—whilst somehow managing to say hardly anything revealing at all—she was manufacturing a bubble of intimacy around them, shielding them from the outside world, effortlessly getting Rachel to talk freely in a way she barely spoke to Santana. What angered Rachel most was that she couldn't figure out if Quinn was doing it intentionally or if it was completely accidental.

Still, she was kind of delighted and the Quinn staring at her now seemed different in a way Rachel couldn't quite define. Besides, she was having an amazing time too and she didn't want the give pink elephant looming behind them a chance to ruin the evening.

"Me too," Rachel whispered before dragging them both to a bench off to the side of the path. "We have arrived at our destination. We only have a few hours of good light left but I imagine you'll have to return to your policing duties before then."

Quinn smiled, as she watched Rachel quickly unpack the bag of food and pile the containers between them on the bench.

"Unfortunately, I do. I have a lot of open cases I still need to solve."

Rachel pushed a container with accompanying chopsticks towards Quinn with a small grin and tilted her head to the side, daring Quinn to take the food from her hands. The blonde's fingers brushed hers and Rachel bit her lip in surprise, not expecting the sudden tingles she hadn't felt in an extremely long time. She quickly turned towards the water, smirking when she heard Quinn gasp.

The Pond was really her favourite spot in all of Central Park. She had been extremely pleased this morning when she realized New York was getting a brief reprieve from the frigid temperatures March had been offering thus far and she wasn't about to let such an opportunity go to waste.

From their spot the old stone and cobble bridge was just visible underneath the whirls of blues, pinks and reds in the sky. Unfortunately, the trees hadn't yet started to sprout for spring by the tranquility of rushing water and the sunset were definitely worth the trip. If given the choice Rachel would choose to be this over the simulated romance of _Per Se_ any day.

"I hope you haven't been here before, though I've been many times and the novelty has yet to wear off for me thus far."

When she didn't received a prompt response, Rachel turned to look at Quinn, who had her eyes glued to the colours of the sky. The woman seemed to realize Rachel was staring because she answered back seconds later.

"No." It was said almost absently—like the blonde had no idea she was saying it at all—until Quinn turned to look at Rachel with an impish grin. "Well yes, but not like this. I passed through while chasing a purse snatcher when I was in uniform."

Rachel laughed, throwing her head back and imagining a younger Quinn running after a purse laden thief. Such a character was certainly an impostor to the craft. "I assume you caught the thieving scoundrel and saved the day?"

The blonde smiled and nodded, bringing a piece of broccoli up from her container and shoving it in her mouth like she hadn't eaten for days. From what Finn had implied, Quinn probably forgot many meals in favour of catching the bad guys.

Rachel looked down at the other containers between them, picking up a couple in silent deliberation before deciding on one and holding it out to the blonde, who had managed to finish the last of the food in her container off while Rachel was still deciding.

"Chicken Fried Rice," explained Rachel when Quinn just continued to look at the white box, blushing when she realized the sight she must have made. "Don't worry, I got it for you. I'm a vegan, after all. Besides, keeping one of New York's finest sufficiently nourished is my duty as a raving New Yorker."

The woman was still staring and Rachel obnoxiously waved the box between them—in hopes that it would look enticing enough for the blonde to take it—until Quinn placed her empty container down on the opposite side of her, grabbing at the new one fairly eagerly. Once Quinn had it open, she looked up with an inquiring stare.

"So, tell me something about Rachel Berry the Internet doesn't know?"

Rachel finished chewing slowly, trying to decide what she was going to say. Admittedly, she had lots to say that wasn't admittance to being the thief Quinn was after but Rachel was still a little hesitant to drop that wall down, especially when Quinn had a knack for keeping her talking about those things she really didn't want to share.

"Well, since you are already well versed in my personal life story and have electronically attained second base all before the first date, I'd much rather hear more about you and keep the mysterious veil I'm told chicks find attractive still intact."

Quinn laughed and nodded almost like she expected it, much to Rachel's dismay. "Alright that seems fair, but only if you tell me something after. Quid pro quo, Clarice."

Rachel smiled before shyly looking down and playing with the vegetables and tofu pieces still left in her container. She knew she needed to do this because the more they talked the more likely Quinn would offer that something that chased her doubts away. Rachel had yearned for that moment from the very instant she'd opened her door revealing the most amazing eyes she'd ever seen.

Glancing back up, the tiny brunette was determined to see this through, her nerves once again nonexistent. "While I find it somewhat frightening that you decided to loosely quote a cannibalistic serial killer to entice me to meet your demands, I will agree to such a stipulation if you meet mine."

Quinn smirked slightly before nodding her head. "What is it you want to know? I'm not all that interesting."

With so many choices, Rachel's brain was tripping over itself to offer suggestions and it was ironic—and completely tragic—that she couldn't ask the only question she wanted an answer to. Clearly, even fate had no problem mocking her and Rachel almost felt like her life was slowly turning into an Alanis Morissette song. Still, Quinn was staring at her expectantly, waiting on a question, and Rachel realized she was being forced into accepting second best. It was like when she won that Teen Choice surf board.

"After careful deliberation, since I pride myself on never wasting any opportunity, I've decided to ask about your choice of employment, or more accurately your choice to become an officer of the law," Rachel uttered, capping off her speech with a convincing nod at the end.

Quinn looked contemplative, the question effectively prying her interest away from the food in her hands until the blonde was only absently stabbing at it with a chopstick. Rachel waited, wondering if her nerves getting the best of her again had effectively screwed everything up. Then Quinn turned—raising one of her legs up under her body so she could be fully facing Rachel on the narrowness of the bench—and shrugged with a small grin.

"It's nothing too exciting. I didn't know what I wanted to do for the longest time so when I went to college I just took all the classes that sounded interesting. By my second year, when I needed to pick a major, the counselor that was helping me told me most of my classes corresponded with the Police Foundations course, so I kind of just went with it."

Rachel studied Quinn carefully and the blonde just looked right back at her appearing as calm and nonchalant as her story had been. For all extensive purposes, Quinn had been just sharing a well-treaded part of her life but for some reason Rachel didn't believe her. In fact, Rachel was positive Quinn had just lied right to her face—even if there was no way to prove it—and Rachel quickly realized that Quinn could've been lying to her the entire time. She really had no way of knowing, either way.

Trying her best to seem like she hadn't just figured out Quinn was the best liar she'd ever seen, Rachel put on another smile and it was kind of disheartening how easy it was while sitting beside Quinn.

"Well," Rachel murmured, holding the last syllable a little longer than necessary until she felt the jolt of confidence she had been waiting for, "the NYPD were certainly the receivers of Lady Luck's fortune then."

The blonde blushed, looking at her with sparkling eyes and Rachel could already feel herself falling back into their trap. She exhaled deeply—feeling like she was spiraling out of control—looking around, desperate to find something to grab onto and only seeing more hazel. Thankfully, Quinn looked away and down to the phone that was beeping angrily in her pocket before Rachel completely unravelled.

When Quinn glanced back up with an apologetic look on her face, Rachel was more relieved than disappointed. The roller coaster that they were on was speeding way to fast down the track, especially when Rachel now knew for sure there was a brick wall looming in the distance.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm needed for a case," Quinn whispered softly and it was terrifying how badly Rachel wanted to believe in her.

Instead, she quickly nodded, since the blonde had forewarned her of such an occurrence happening tonight, and did her best to smile. "It is perfectly alright. I was well aware of this being possibility beforehand, as I'm sure you know."

Quinn smiled when the Diva started packing away the leftover food and slowly stood up, walking the few steps until she was in front of her. Rachel looked up, almost confused, before Quinn reached down to grasp both her hands and gently tugged her up, so they were standing about a foot away from each other.

"I'm still sorry," the blonde whispered, tilting her head to the side with another charming smile.

Rachel's face flushed, her lip finding its way between her teeth, before exhaling a breath and dropping one of Quinn's hands. The blonde opened her mouth to say something but Rachel was already turned around to grab the bag she'd left resting on the bench.

"I'm sure you're aware of my choice of veganism," Rachel stated, glancing back up at Quinn when she was fully turned back around, and held out the bag of food, "and since I bought the majority of this with you in mind, as I wasn't sure what dish you favoured, most of this will go to waste unless you take it with you."

Quinn laughed at the stricken look on the brunette's face at the very thought of their dinner going to waste before grabbing the bag with her free hand. "Thanks, I think."

Rachel didn't say anything, just started to gently pull Quinn out of the park much like the way they had arrived. It wasn't until they made it back to the entrance did Quinn pull Rachel to a stop.

The tiny brunette turned to ask if something was wrong and Quinn was looking at her in the same way she'd been when she stopped them before. Only this time the blonde seemed unsure, almost like she was searching for the words to say. The more the seconds ticked away the more furrowed Quinn's brow became and Rachel watched as that sparkle in the blonde's eyes started to sadly fade away.

"Quinn…" she said softly, squeezing the hand she had trapped in her own.

The blonde blinked innately in response and there was still hardly any shine left to the amazing eyes she was so taken with. Rachel was almost desperate to get them back to normal and did something she really shouldn't have.

Rachel kissed her.

And there were no bells, chimes or sparks. The world didn't stop spinning and she didn't get weak in the knees, it was just warm and soft—and it was just right.

Pulling away, Rachel opened her eyes and didn't see what she expected to. Not the detective out to get her, or the person that had probably been lying to her from the moment they met but the woman who had earnestly told her she was having a really great time. She saw Quinn—who appeared to be more dazed than confused—with this resigned look on her face that said all that the blonde wouldn't allow herself to say.

"I know," Rachel whispered for both of them.

As they began walking again, Rachel wondered if knowing about the lies—knowing that they both wanted it to be different—was enough to see this through.

Honestly, she really wasn't sure.


	8. Part 8

**A/N: **_Umm...what to say...oh unfortunately Quinn is not in this chapter. I really wanted to put her in but Santana's vendetta against Mercedes has been stalled for a little too long. It will only be a couple chapters (really only 2 chapters, I promise) and then I'm thinking on a Quinn chapter but I'm not sure about that yet. I sort of like her being mysterious but if you want it I can maybe be persuaded to put it in, just like Santana's plan's chapter._

_Anyway I hope you continue to review, even though Quinn is noticeably absent. I wasn't going to force in a scene for her (no matter how much I wanted to) because it just wouldn't fit in with where the story is going. I really appreciate all the feedback for the last chapter. The reviews hit double digits for the first time since chapter 1 and 2 :)_

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**Part 8**

Rachel was actually a very honest person and while that statement might directly conflict with almost every aspect of her life—ultimately turning it into a very whiny plea to ignore the large, rather unavoidable fact that she lied for a living—Rachel refused to believe otherwise.

Compartmentalization was a handy tool for somebody that spent the majority of her day avoiding the truth with almost everybody she ever met. If it wasn't a ruse to obtain smaller pieces of a bigger plan to rob somebody blind it was playing coy with the media to ensure that Rachel Berry stayed a household name. Separating such things allowed the Rachel to be able to say that she was honest because those parts of her life never touched the more intimate relationships she had with Santana and Brittany, two people she never wanted to lie to.

It didn't start out that way, of course. Rachel had hated Santana when she had first met her—she was pretty sure the feeling had been mutual—and Brittany had the propensity to blurt out anything, regardless of what it was, which had made her too unpredictable for even an inkling of placed faith. But, as always, circumstances arose and things quickly changed.

With Brittany—unlike Santana—it had been easier to like her. She was sweet and genuine, not exactly naturally witty but funny in a totally accidental kind of way brought on by her absentmindedness in almost all situations. They talked a lot on those nights that Santana would drag Rachel out and then proceed to avoid Brittany for the rest of their time at the Latina's go-to strip club. Sometimes their conversations had been about Santana, actually they talked a lot about Santana—almost as much as they did Brittany's manic love for waterfowl—and sometimes about more personal stuff like Rachel's failed relationship or Brittany's aspirations to open her own dance studio.

But still, Rachel didn't start trusting Brittany until she literally ran into the blonde in the light of day for the first time. It was one of those cliché meetings when one party knocked over the other in an epic battle over the front door of a _Starbucks_. Rachel was rushing out—late for rehearsals across town but too dependant on her daily Macchiato to care—and Brittany was rushing in for reasons that the blonde never really felt the need to share. Rachel ended up sprawled out on the floor covered in her coveted beverage when it was all said and done. Her small stature was really no match for Brittany's lanky one after all.

There were apologies, another trip through the line for a replacement coffee and somewhere in there they made plans to go out that night. Santana was against it—which really hadn't been a surprise—but Rachel went anyway because as she said before: it was easy to like Brittany. Unfortunately, that likability also made it extremely hard to say no to Brittany as well. Her eyes would get big and bright—just shining with excitement—making denying the blonde feel like saving a puppy from the pound and then simultaneously tossing it in front of a moving car on the way home.

So Rachel had agreed to drink more than she should have, only protesting a couple times at the first club they started at early during their girl's night out. After—approximately—club hop number four—between the both of them there were still holes on that night—they were totally smashed and in a cab on the way to Rachel's. Unfortunately, laden inhibitions—correction, no inhibitions at all—lead to them both waking up with matching headaches and cuddling under the covers of Rachel's bed without clothes.

They both had known it was a mistake—when the pounding in their heads was finally dulled with a healthy dose of _Advil_—and Rachel had cried at the prospect of telling Santana because she was already emotionally unstable in her present—hung-over—state of mind. Brittany valiantly tried her best to figure out what had made the brunette so sad until she just gave up and started crying too.

It wasn't until Brittany suggested forgetting it ever happened—promising and in following months aptly fulfilling her pledge of keeping their night together a secret—that Rachel decided Brittany could be trusted.

Rachel still felt guilty about it but reasoned it was a worthwhile burden to bear. Santana was happy with Brittany and if the Latina ever found out about the lie—well, more an avoidance of bringing up the truth really, since she'd never had to outright answer a question about sleeping with Brittany—Santana would've been too proud to date the blonde at all.

That had been the only lie Rachel had ever told her best friend but she was a little worried that was about to change. The Latina been circling her office all day—eyeing her like prey—and purposely leaving Rachel to stew in the knowledge of their pending confrontation in a—successful—attempt to frazzle her nerves.

Santana was always the type to play with her food before devouring it and Rachel had become quite good at identifying when the more terrifying part of that analogy was about to happen. The tiny Diva had seconds at most—quite obvious thanks to her clever demands for glass walls to lessen the probability of walking into a room and seeing Brittany's head between Santana's legs once again—and it was only a matter of time until Santana got bored of harassing her assistant—Rachel had been discreetly watching the two for the past half hour—in lieu of her.

Sighing, the tiny brunette reluctantly turned back to the folders on her desk, anxiously shifting through the numerous band profiles her talent department had sent for final approval. Wiggling her favourite yellow highlighter between her fingers, she bit her lip in a vain attempt to concentrate on perusing through a file of what she hoped was a promising young artist. The first three she'd looked at weren't good enough for her label at all—the worst being the young 'rapper' who's _Twitter_ account was full of videos of him rapping about growing up fighting for survival on the streets when he was from Lincoln, Nebraska—and if the files didn't get better Rachel had no problem hiring people to replace the employees that continued to hand her mediocrity.

When her door slammed open, it wasn't as surprising as Rachel was sure Santana hoped and she calmly tossed another file filled with second-rate talent with all the other horrible ones. Santana dropped into one of the specially made directors chairs—only they were much lower to the ground to make conversion much more comfortable—that were positioned in front of Rachel's desk, smirking like a deranged Cheshire Cat.

"Maurice came out of his closet briefly to tell me all about how you screening your calls made him miss out on investigating the mass text sighting of Kathy Griffin down the block," Santana said loftily with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I definitely approve."

Rachel sighed, dropping her highlighter onto the stack of unread folders in front of her. "Santana, how many times do I have to tell you, he's not gay? I would know, a straight sexual orientation was part of my screening process when I hired him two years ago."

Santana was looking at her—eyebrow quirked just slightly with a smaller smirk on her face—obviously amused by the mention of less than proper business practices. "Do I want to know?"

Rachel decided she probably didn't because then Santana's little game of railroading her assistant to admit to a gay sexuality would pretty much be ruined. Besides, Rachel had been kidding to begin with and really why she hired Maurice wasn't anyone's business but her own. Still, anything to distract her friend from asking the question that Rachel had no desire to answer was fine by her. She was even going to encourage it.

"You know it's important that I garner the most attention in any room and intentionally placing an individual who also seeks the same acclaim that I do in said rooms would be prudent to my endeavors," Rachel deadpanned and Santana still seemed to believe she'd do such a horrific thing, looking at her in the exact same way as before.

"That was actually what I was expecting. You're getting boring, Berry," Santana said with a small but exaggerated sigh.

Rachel rolled her eyes because she knew Santana was intentionally trying to rile her up. It's what the Latina did and answering back in complaint was what Rachel could never help but do as well.

"My lord," she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation, both balled in tiny fists. "I wasn't being serious. Such a practice is a lawsuit waiting to happen and I've dealt with enough close-minded people in my life that I would never do such a thing. Besides my fathers would kill me.

And suddenly Santana was smirking like that cat again, giving Rachel the sinking feeling that she'd been played. "So then you admit that Maurice the flaming flamer is a big gay 'mo?"

Rachel out right ignored the comment with a slight shake of her head. "I was under the impression that you were indisposed by a conference call until noon. Why are you here bothering me?"

Santana shrugged, suddenly bored with the conversation and finding entertainment in deciding if she needed another manicure. When Rachel cleared her throat expectantly, Santana absently offered, "Oh that, it was kind of boring so I let Brittany run it."

"The same Brittany that plans her day around the fortune in the cookies she eats for breakfast?"

"Mhmm," Santana went back to inspecting her nails, suddenly bored again, "today's told her that she had the tools to persuade even the most stubborn of people if she put her mind to it and I couldn't argue with that when she successfully tried it on me this morning. Twice."

"I continue to hold onto hope that you're not resting the fate of our company on Brittany's ability to get you into bed." Santana looked up, her eyes shining with challenge and what looked like a deep seeded satisfaction, as she no doubt replayed this morning through her head. Rachel swallowed down some of her aggravation and did her best to move on with the conversation. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how ridiculous that is, especially when your libido rivals that of a horny teenage boy without any provocation."

Santana rolled her eyes, snorting unattractively in laughter. "Well doesn't your Detective Quinnie have you all in a tizzy? What happened? Did she realize how annoying you are and run away?"

Rachel froze, her eyes turning a dull brown just briefly, but Santana saw it. Rachel knew she did and the tiny brunette had to rectify the situation as quickly as possible. Santana couldn't know, Rachel knew exactly what the Latina was capable of if she did.

"Can we just proceed to the point in the conversation that you tell me why you're here?" she said quickly and her eyes carelessly went needy. Like warm chocolate chip cookies, they were traitorous windows to her soul.

The Latina's jaw clenched while a mirage of scenarios involving the torture of Quinn Fabray flittered through her head. That bitch had definitely done something but it was obvious that Rachel wasn't going to tell her about it, no matter what Santana said.

"Mercedes, she's at a safe house," the Latina offered, knowing she'd have to come at Rachel another way to get the details of the date. "Bitch probably got protection for giving us up."

Rachel wasn't surprised Santana had just left it alone. It could only mean that she was planning on falling back on pumping Brittany for details when the blonde got them out of Rachel. The tiny brunette had left earlier for work this morning in an attempt to avoid just that because Rachel knew she'd end up telling Brittany, she always did.

She just couldn't let Santana find out that Quinn was lying to her—it just wasn't an option—and Brittany would tell her because she'd be angry about it as well. Rachel needed the time to figure out what she was going to do about Quinn without having to worry about Santana hunting Quinn down too.

Shaking her head, Rachel leaned back in her chair, knowing she had to get through this before she could worry about anything else. Sadly, a part deep down was actually thankful for Mercedes' resurgence, if only to distract Santana away from Quinn.

"And, you're thinking such a thing would only occur if the girl had enemies," Rachel murmured and Santana smirked, her eyes ablaze with vengeance. "You're not entertaining the thought of handing her over to them, are you?"

Santana laughed darkly, looking every bit as dangerous as Rachel knew she could be. "Damn right I am. It's her own fuckin' fault. The file said she's been reporting to Fabray for years. You don't do shit like that in our business; you know that, Berry. Besides, we've got shit coming up and I don't want to worry about this anymore."

Rachel sighed, running a hand through her hair, trying to figure out what to say to that because everything Santana had just said was true. Mercedes had played with fire—admittedly Rachel didn't know the circumstances—but she broke the rules with no disregard for the consequences that the girl seemed to be facing now.

"Santana, you know I find profanity to be the lowest form of speech in any language with the exception of those misguided souls who enjoy speaking in text talk of, course. Noah Webster is no doubt bleeding from the ears after that unfortunate stringing of words," Rachel sighed with a disappointed shake of her head.

"Of course, what the fuck was I thinking?" Rachel just scowled in response, much to Santana's delight, "and since you ignored everything else I said, I'm taking it as if you're down with feeding the bitch to the wolves. Which is good because I made an appointment with The Coach at three."

Rachel sighed, crossing her arms with a highly exaggerated huff of air. "I most certainly am not 'down' with you're proposed plan of action but I am also well aware of the odds of me talking you out of it, which is why I choose not to comment to encourage such an ordeal."

"Alright, sounds good, just remember to pick up the right protein powder. Last time her assistant threatened to cut me and she looked pretty serious until I gave her that chocolate bar," Santana said conversationally before pushing herself to her feet.

Rachel quickly jumped up after her, only not as calmly. "That's it, that's all you have to say? You cannot be serious?"

The screeching was shrill enough to make Santana flinch and Rachel found herself somewhat satisfied by the reaction. Serves her right for brushing her off, Rachel thought.

"God, Berry, leave some space for answers. My ears are ringing from your shrieking, you Banshee!" When Rachel just glared at her, Santana rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Listen, she threatened us, alright? If I don't do something we'll be vulnerable to more people like her thinking they can get away with it. We agreed that this is my job, so let me do it."

Rachel's look instantly softened and she reluctantly nodded, knowing that she had to let Santana do whatever she had planned. Reputation was everything in this business and their's was weakened as of late. Her and Santana knew better than anybody that the quickest way to the top was over somebody higher in the food chain. They did the exact same thing Santana was afraid of when they were younger.

"That woman is completely insane, you know?" Rachel offered the olive branch. "Last time, she made me thank her family portrait for allowing my birth."

"Well, she does have a point," Santana murmured, effectively putting the previous conversation to rest. "Her mother did single handedly eradicate the Nazis, something that I'm sure the Jews were kind of happy about."

Rachel huffed, rolling her eyes with enough exasperation to get a small smile out of Santana. "She did not...nevermind. Arguing about the beliefs of a deranged mind is quite pointless. Please just do your job and leave my assistant alone."

"Can make no promises, Dixie. I just have too many gay traps in place to catch the Jolly Rancher in the act to possibly disable them all in time."

"He really isn't gay, Santana. Doesn't the fact that none of your efforts thus far have been successful mean something to you?" Rachel sighed with a small shake of her head. "Also Dixie is surprisingly lack luster when juxtaposed together with your other nicknames for me. Actually, I'm not quite sure I understand the meaning behind this one."

"You know, like _Dixie Cup_? 'Cause it's smaller than your average cup and I thought you could relate."

Rachel rolled her eyes and found herself biting her lip to stop from laughing. It really was very clever and Rachel never had a problem with Santana's nicknames for her because they were always said teasingly with no real malicious intent behind them. She'd lived on the other side of the coin for long enough to appreciate the difference and truthfully she quite liked having a nickname.

"Sometimes I find myself struggling to figure out why we're friends. Your insensitivity truly knows no bounds," Rachel deadpanned, which Santana brushed off with a careless shrug of her shoulders.

"Thanks, I try and I'll be back at two. Be here because if I have to look for your ass, you'll be sorry."

Rachel sighed, tilting her head to the side, silently questioning the other woman's threat, before she said, "Of course, Santana."

Finally her friend was gone and Rachel collapsed back into her chair almost boneless. Leaning her head back on to the top of it, Rachel stared up at the ceiling in hopes that maybe she would find all the answers she desperately needed.

The ceiling just continued to be definite and simple and startlingly clean, all the things that Rachel knew she'd never be. With a sigh, the tiny brunette pulled the burner cell out of hiding in her desk drawer and reluctantly dialed a familiar number.


	9. Part 9

**A/N: **Wow, this definitely was a long long…long time coming. Hopefully some people are still waiting to read :)

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**Part 9**

Rachel and Santana stood outside of The Coach's hideout, known as the Cheerio in informed circles despite the cracked and faded sign outside generically labeled 'Gym' in big block letters. Looks were undoubtedly deceiving though because if one wanted to be a cheerleader that amounted to anything in New York (and the subsequent Tri-State Area) this was the only place to be.

"Well, Mini Marvel, lets get this shit done," Santana exclaimed, glancing sideways at the tiny Diva carrying her weight in protein powder just behind her.

Two tubs were stacked up on one another and firmly wedged underneath Rachel's chin to prevent them from falling. Personally, Santana found it hilarious and adjusted her grip on the plastic bag in her hand—filled with all the chocolate she'd been able to steal from the vending machines at work—before pushing open the front door.

The scent of sweat and cigar smoke was almost suffocating as they walked in. It could only mean The Coach had just finished a class and was celebrating the tears of would-be cheerleaders by burning one of her Cuban cigars in honor of said country's flare for communism—her biggest inspiration to date.

Trophies lined the walls, gleaming arrogantly in glass display cases while some of the less important ones were placed below on the floor. All from cheerleading teams that had The Coach to thank for gracing the victory circle, decades of accomplishment immortalized for all to see.

Rachel—and to an extent Santana—couldn't argue when faced with results. It was a begrudging respect—mostly fear—that had them jumping through hoops—procuring chocolate bars and protein powder—to get a meeting. Everybody was six degrees away from a cheerleader and Sue—The Coach—Sylvester had no qualms about pumping that resource for a price.

Red and white tumble mats were being stacked in the corner by this generation of aspiring cheerleaders under the watchful eye of a tiny blonde wearing a headset. The sound of Rachel and Santana's heels on the scuffed hardwood floor gave their arrival away and the blonde's eyes cut to them instantly.

"Leave the goods on the table over there and go in. Coach is expecting you," she ordered, pointing to an older oak desk in the corner to the left of a giant poster advocating canning as punishment for first time offenders.

The door of Coach Sylvester's office was on the right and both women quickly complied with Becky the assistant's demands before going in. The open door yielded more tangible accolades in cases and hanging on the walls. An elliptical sat dormant facing them as they walked in and a makeshift bar was set up with a blender—surrounded by a variety of unlabelled jars—off to its side. And Sue Sylvester sat behind a behemoth-sized desk, malevolent grin firmly in place almost like a track-suited super villain planning to euthanize Australia with a laser gun.

"Boobs McGee, Nose-Too-Big, take a seat. I'd offer you a drink but I'm fresh out of placenta," the woman deadpanned, while slowly placing her palms flat on her desk and leaning forward, "and I just don't like you that much."

Both sat—Rachel taking the time to hide her nose from further scrutiny with her hand—while the Latina sighed.

"Coach Sylvester, thanks for seeing us on such short notice," Santana offered with a slight narrowing of her eyes.

Said woman—a self-proclaimed woman of mystery, a healthy dose of horse tranquilizers keeping her face numb enough to be the one that gives you nothing—nodded toward the obligatory greeting of thanks. It was the kiss upon the ring of a narcissist that despised physical affection, preferring for her greatness to be expressed out loud for all to hear.

"Ah Lopez, you're breath still reeks of rancid taco meat. How's your fair-haired lady lover doing now that she's not shaking her ta tas for all of lower Manhattan?"

Santana swallowed, her fist clenching at her sides and Rachel's eyes widened when alarm bells were loud enough to smack into the side of her face.

"Ms. Sylvester, it is wonderful to see you again," she blurted out, taking the attention off of her angry—teetering on the edge of an explosion—best friend. "How is business going? The girls we spotted coming in seem to be it tip-top shape, which is to be expected—"

Sue held up her hand, instantly silencing the rambling brunette. "I'm going to have to stop you right there. The air whistling through your nose sounded like the cat I swerved to hit on the sidewalk and had scraped off the undercarriage of my _Le Car_ this morning."

Rachel opened and closed her mouth, her eyes involuntarily tearing up for the poor feline casualty of a deranged mind.

Santana quickly cut in. "That aside…do you have what we came for?"

Sue leaned back in her chair, almost like she was contemplating the comment, before she motioned to the two manila folders that lay on her desk in front of Santana.

"When I first saw the name, it reminded me of my days on the great wide plains of Saskatoon, mounting a bucking bronco in my leather chaps," the woman moved forward, an almost wistful glint in her eye, "and nothing else."

Rachel and Santana violently shuddered—trying to shake the scantily clad (galloping) Sue Sylvester from their minds—and though the woman's narrative made no sense at all, neither was brave enough to question it in fear that the story wasn't finished.

The smaller of the brunettes was the first to recover. "Yes, well, being home on the range is a very admirable feat. I would know since—"

"You were," interrupted Santana, glancing sideways at Rachel, who petulantly looked away, "able to find her then?"

Sue reached into her desk, pulling out a tiny personal blender and flipping it on. The machine came to life, grinding what was inside into a pale skin coloured paste. It didn't look appetizing to say the least, almost like liquified flesh, which could've been a substitute for the previously mentioned depleted placenta supply. At least in Rachel's mind anyway and the tiny brunette moved back further in her chair to avoid any possible splatter.

"Yep, your girl is a notorious Tots guzzler. Followed those crispy potato filled pillows of saturated fat straight back to the trough." Santana grabbed the folder and flipped it open, scanning the contents, trying to hide her maniacal grin at what she saw, when the blender turned off. "Feel free to pass on my regards to your lady gay. I'm sure she'll remember that Sue Sylvester likes it shaken, not stirred."

Santana stood up with the file, nodding toward the other woman before walking out and Rachel inaudibly sighed in relief at her best friend's restraint. The first time they'd came there, many years ago when Rachel was still searching for her mother, Santana hadn't made it the whole meeting before storming out, much to Sue Sylvester's delight.

Standing, she looked to Sue, giving her an obligatory smile to be polite. "Thank you for seeing us on—"

"Queue the verbal diarrhea, Short Stack. Your file was the one underneath the Tater binger." Rachel looked down and slowly moved to pick it up. "Sue Sylvester was once struck by the Sapphic arrow of love. Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…"

When Sue didn't say anything else—preferring to stir her protein shake fondly with its straw—Rachel bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sure your time together was special, Ms. Sylvester."

The tiny brunette then quickly left, dialing a familiar number as she passed Becky—currently surrounded by brightly coloured wrappers in a chocolaty coma—and waited for it to pick up.

A cheerful greeting reached her ears and Rachel sighed. "Brittany, we need to talk."


	10. Part 10

**A/N:**_ I think this fic deserved an update and with Quinn's tragic absence in the past few chapters this ones all about her._ _Sorry for the long wait, hopefully a few people stuck around for this chapter :)_

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**Part 10**

The annoying sound wouldn't stop no matter how far Quinn buried her head into her pillow. The Sandman had just taken mercy on her and gave her good dreams—despite her age—when her cell phone rang, vibrating across her coffee table angrily.

Groaning, she flung her arm in the general direction of the noise and in the process found herself face first with the carpet between couch and table. The ringing-buzzing combo finally stopped and her phone lay dormant on the glass tabletop. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief and pushed herself up to a sitting position slowly, wincing at the pain flaring through her back.

It must have slipped her mind that her couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep when she'd gotten home earlier after an extremely grueling stakeout with Puck. The fabric itched her skin, it was lumpy, full of broken springs that jabbed relentlessly into multiple parts of her body, and it was almost a foot too short for her height. It was suffice to say, she was paying the price for pushing off the task of replacing her couch, not just her poor decision to sleep on it.

Despite pledging to protect and serve the city that never sleeps, Quinn Fabray wasn't accustomed to calls in the middle of the night. While bandits and thieves preferred the shroud of darkness for evil doing, rarely were the really good ones ever found out until morning when somebody realized something was missing and called the police. Sure she worked the odd smash and grab once in a while but usually her captain only called her in to chase those really good ones that didn't smash jewelry cases with the butt end of a gun with a security camera three feet away.

Running her hand through her tangled blonde hair, she struggled to stand up. The silver device glaring at her from the table a couple feet away chirped with the good news of voicemail before it started ringing again. Sighing, Quinn reached out to glance at the number and quickly tossed it back on the table once it was silenced, deciding to head to the kitchen instead of answering it.

The smell of fresh coffee filled her nostrils and she thanked the heavens for programmable coffee makers. Quinn had just settled down on a stool at the kitchen island when more ringing and frustrated vibrating shattered the peace and quiet. She watched from the kitchen counter as her cell phone reached the edge of the table and jumped off without any reservations. She didn't have it in her to mourn its loss.

With her coffee done, Quinn placed the mug near the sink and walked towards her room. It was probably the best decision she'd made all day—ignoring her phone certainly wasn't but she couldn't find it in her to care now that she couldn't hear the ringing.

With little care for modesty, Quinn stripped off her soiled clothes and tossed them behind her as she stumbled towards the bed. Hitting the cool sheets in just her panties, she sighed and felt a sleepy haze wash over her instantly.

Things got a little fuzzier and a little more lethargic. Her brain slowed down to a speedy walk instead of dashing breakneck for the finish line. Deep chocolate eyes, the light brush against her lips; it all fluttered together through her mind's eye as her eyes slipped shut.

Yet, Quinn couldn't quite succumb to her dreams, even though she desperately wanted to. Her phone still lay unanswered under her coffee table, the missed call total probably nearing double digits very soon.

She'd been ducking Mercedes calls for days now. Three days actually, not quite the four-day limit Quinn had set to force herself to answer but pretty close. The girl never had anything important to say—usually just looking for her to bring a free lunch of tater tots to the motel she was holed up in on the taxpayer's dime—but Quinn still felt guilty.

She'd busted Mercedes a while back for shoplifting at high-end boutiques in Manhattan. It had been her third theft arrest and the clothes she stole had amounted to a hefty sum—she'd been almost definitely looking down the barrel of a few months of jail time. But then she just started giving up information the moment Quinn had slapped the cuffs on her and over the years Mercedes had been reliable enough to help Quinn rise through the white collar ranks.

So when the girl came to her, fearing for her life—because the people she'd snitched on were after her, Santana being the only one identified by name—Quinn felt obligated to help. Hence the secret motel room until the heat died down when Mercedes' claims couldn't be substantiated, even though Quinn knew they were true.

But, she was feeling a little less obligated lately and there were beat cops driving by the hotel every couple hours, so Quinn was sure Mercedes was just looking for a free crispy and fried tub of cholesterol.

Sighing, she knew she wasn't getting anymore sleep.

Wearily, Quinn dragged on the jeans she had just slid off and tossed on a t-shirt she didn't remember leaving on the floor, stumbling in the general direction of the her phone. Quinn knew she must've been a sight for sore eyes—matted hair, wrinkled, unbuttoned jeans, and bleary eyes all mixed together with the unsavory stench of the depravity still clinging to her from the streets of New York—but she flopped down on the couch, phone in hand, anyway.

The phone rang, Quinn brought her bare feet up away from the cool floor, playing with the hem of her shirt until Mercedes picked up. "Girl, you better be half dead or on your way here with my tots or we're gonna have words."

Quinn sighed. "Mercedes. I've been busy with work. What was so important you felt the need to call me twelve times this morning?"

There was a scandalized gasp and a loud thump came over the line. "Oh no you did not! You know I need my tots and egg scramble every morning and I ain't gettin' it from that diner no more 'cause their delivery boy quit. So get your white ass over here with my tots or I walk!"

Her eyes closed, a deep breath followed. Quinn knew that a diva screaming for tater tots was too self-involved to risk her life. She just wanted attention—topped with tater tots—and being locked up in a motel gave the girl no avenues to get it but manically dialing for Quinn.

Still, having Mercedes as an informant sucked big time—enormously big, Finn Hudson big—but Quinn had encouraged Mercedes to run her mouth for her own personal gain, so Quinn was stuck.

"I'll be there in an hour," she sighed and tossed her phone back onto the table.

Quinn shook her head, making a big show of dragging herself up to her feet and continued grumbling obscenities all the way to the shower.

She hurried through her morning routine. Quinn had pulled on a black sweater over a wife beater and just barely managed to remember to grab her leather jacket on the way out the door. She stopped for the coveted tot breakfast and dropped it off with Mercedes. The girl was too busy with her tots to care if Quinn stayed, the door slamming shut right in the blonde's face.

Sighing, Quinn trudged back to her car. Seeing her breath appear in white clouds in front of her face, she was glad for the jacket. Fridays she liked to dress down, so she just decided to go into work instead of making the trek home for a forty-five minute catnap and a change of clothes.

Nobody was in yet and she leaned back in her chair with a sigh until she heard the foot trails of somebody approaching from behind.

"Quinn," the voice of her captain startled her enough to open her eyes, "please tell me you left. A team only works when all our members are rested."

Quinn blinked, wondering if he was a figment of her imagination because surely he wouldn't be an hour early. With three kids and a wife at home, he barely ever made it in before nine-thirty.

But there he was: same curly brown hair, his patented preppy old time chic—sweater vests, plaid and patterned ties—and the same overly enthusiastic grin that was always encouraging until a deeper look revealed the weariness underneath.

Will Schuester was definitely standing before her in the flesh.

"I went home," she grumbled, smoothing her hands across her jeans. "Went to see my CI this morning. Coming here was easier. We don't usually see you until later though."

His dimpled grin found its way on to his face as he perched himself at the end of her desk. "Ah, I know. Emma and the kids are visiting her parents. I don't think I do well in an empty house."

"Well, welcome to the club," she offered and he winked before moving the few feet to his office, disappearing and then sticking his head back out with a frown.

"I worry about you sometimes." He smoothed his hand over his hair, the gelled locks hardly moved, much to Quinn's amusement. "We're a team here but you need a team at home."

Quinn laughed, shaking her head. His love for motivating the 'team' always shined through in his pep-talks. "I'm thinking about getting a cat."

He shrugged, his eyes sliding towards the precinct doors before slipping back into his office without a word.

Confused, Quinn turned around and there Rachel stood smiling, twirling the stem of a single daffodil between her finger tips.


	11. Part 11

**A/N: **_I was so focused on another fic that I honestly forgot this one existed__. __E. terliz _probably doesn't know it but their review was the reason this was updated. Hope you like it :)

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**Part 11**

Rachel's car was conveniently waiting around the corner. A limousine—that she'd paid a small fortune for—was driving her and Quinn around Manhattan for as long as it took. The tiny Diva suspected it might be a while, since the blonde detective hadn't even opened the file yet. Quinn was seemingly content with just staring at it in her lap with the daffodil Rachel had given her strewn on top.

The car slowed to a stop—probably at a light, since Rachel expressly demanded her driver stop for nothing else—and the blonde looked up.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you again," she whispered and Rachel's tongue licked at her suddenly dry lips.

The Diva shifted so she was fully facing Quinn, her legs re-crossing innately with her new position. "I apologize if I gave you that… well I just required some time to deliberate is all."

That and to make sure Santana was suitably distracted enough to ensure Quinn's safety. Rachel bit her lip and looked guiltily out at the chaos of the morning hour traffic.

"Deliberate what?" Quinn seemed as equally meek about their chosen topic; Rachel could hear it in the shaky timbre of her voice. "What ever is in this folder, I presume?"

Rachel looked back, quickly shaking her head. "No, the contents of the folder are a residuum of my decision. If you would just open it you'd see—"

"What was your decision?"

Quinn absently fiddled with the stem of the flower but didn't make a move any closer to the folder. Her refusal to open it was completely unfathomable to the tiny Diva. A detective shouldn't just be sitting idly by with answers resting—quite literally—in their lap but then Quinn had admittedly left her gun and badge back at the precinct.

Still, Rachel was growing tired of waiting. She supposed it came with wanting things too much because she did want a lot of things, most of the time at any cost. But, she'd just like to say that she only sent her once foster sister—Sunshine—to that crack house to save her life. Rachel only wanted to borrow her sparkly pink microphone for karaoke night and Santana didn't take to kindly to the girl accusing the Latina of stealing it.

At any rate, leaning closer to Quinn made sure the blonde had nowhere to look but right at her.

"I want you, Quinn," she whispered and when the blonde didn't seem to comprehend the obvious with more than an owlish blink Rachel only grew bolder.

Quinn tasted like coffee and peppermint and Rachel fisted Quinn's crimson blouse in an attempt to stop a guttural moan from escaping when the blonde started to kiss her back. Their lips clashed and Rachel took to nibbling the pouty lip in her mouth until she had to reluctantly pull away.

Both were panting, warm air gusting over bruised lips, sending tingles down both their spines until Quinn surged forward. Her tongue was in Rachel's mouth before the brunette could decipher much but the whimper escaping her lips. As the passion continued to boil over between them, the chaste rightness of their last kiss seem all but a distant memory.

Rachel pushed forward in an attempt to get Quinn on her back but the folder in the blonde's lap protested with an abstentious poke to the Diva's stomach. Because it hadn't just fallen on the floor (like it mostly likely should have) and instead played its metaphorical part in keeping them apart with such timing that Rachel would've been proud of, if she hadn't been deliriously drunk during her last orgasm in shared company.

But, she quietly watched as Quinn finally opened it anyway, the blonde's eyes scanning the contents before they jumped up angrily to her own.

"What the hell is this?" she growled and Rachel silently moved away to give the woman some space until hazel eyes turned anxious. "You… how did you get this? I… this isn't…"

Quinn glanced at the doors—as if ready to jump out—but Rachel had enough foresight to expressly explain to the driver the need to lock them after Quinn got inside. Well, at least until the blonde heard her out because Rachel wasn't about to forcibly hold the blonde against her will like a lowly kidnapper. Though with Quinn jumping between fight and flight at such a rapid pace, Rachel imagined she only have a few minutes to get her point across.

She took a deep breath and started in on her spiel. "While I suspect such a thing has been a secret burdening you for many years, you don't have to be afraid. I have no intentions of doing anything with that file but giving it to you."

"Right and what do you want for it?"

Quinn was back to being defensive, gripping the file tightly while glaring at her with angry hazel eyes. But Rachel had seen that look in her life enough—most of the time while staring listlessly in a mirror—to know Quinn was scared. It honestly hadn't been Rachel's intention but then she supposed such a thing was unavoidable with a secret buried so deep.

She sighed. "I want nothing, Quinn. I just thought… well I thought our situation would be easier if we were on equal ground."

"Oh right," Quinn scoffed with a roll of her eyes while Rachel sadly watched her gifted flower fly against the window when the blonde started gesturing angrily with her hands. "You're a thief, Rachel and that doesn't even come close to me…I…"

"Alleged thief," Rachel was quick to correct because being officially labeled as a thief meant being caught (which she certainly had not) and such a thing was a rightful distinction that deserved a proper amendment, "and killing your father is nothing to be ashamed about not with what little I read—"

"No," interrupted Quinn with an almost violent shake of her head. "You don't get to talk like you know me because you read some file, you understand me? You know nothing about me, nothing about it. Nothing!"

Rachel deflated—seemingly duly chastised—as she shyly looked down. Finally, she looked up; her brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know I… well I don't know you at all but I thought this would give us a chance to…" Quinn's eyes boring into her own did nothing for Rachel's attempts at holding in her tears. "You have to understand that I can't just freely let you into my life, Quinn. If it were just me, I wouldn't have felt compelled to do this because honestly I already adore you but I can't…not without a fail safe."

Quinn stared at Rachel before looking down at the folder in her hands. Finally, she snapped it closed and looked up with dark eyes. "So what are you suggesting then?"

Rachel was almost hesitant to share her plan because she honestly felt like any rejection from Quinn would put her over the edge. Still, Rachel Berry wasn't a quitter and, well, she reasoned that after coming this far, she owed it to herself to try.

"I'm suggesting that if you want this relationship to continue, you'll give me the file back and we can continue on feeling secure in the knowledge that any subsequent secrets we may share over the course of whatever it is that develops between us stay untold."

Quinn shook her head, a small smile gracing her face. "So you're suggesting we have a real relationship under the veil of double blackmail?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I suppose you could phase it in such a way if you were so inclined."

A beat of silence and then the smile fell from Quinn's face. The blonde looked conflicted and so sad but it unfortunately didn't make it any better. "I don't think I can, Rachel. I just…I wasn't supposed to like you. You're…"

A criminal, Rachel silently finished for her. It didn't really matter that Quinn was technically one too—though the blonde's circumstances certainly seemed more dire than Rachel's had been—because that was the way Quinn saw her.

It wasn't always that way though… it really wasn't.

But Quinn was still holding the file and Rachel couldn't tell her. She couldn't risk it and she reluctantly buzzed the driver to come to a stop.

An hour and a half.

That was officially how long it took.


	12. Part 12

**A/N: **_Well, thanks for all the kind reviews. I'd honestly forgotten how fun this fic was to write. Enjoy :)_

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**Part 12**

The first thing Rachel ever stole was a tube of jungle red lipstick. She hadn't particularly liked the colour, nor was she choosy about the cosmetic brand, just that it was the brightest non-animal tested option on the rack.

She'd quickly stuffed it into her coat pocket and ran to catch up to Beverley (the care-giver at her first group home) as their cart rattled down the store's narrow aisles like Rachel hadn't ever been away.

Her tiny hand had held that lipstick the entire car ride home to make sure it didn't fall out. The zipper on the pocket of her pink jacket had broken many months earlier and Rachel wasn't about to risk losing her prize to foolish negligence.

And when it was lights out, she'd stood in front of the mirror in her room and tried her best to put the lipstick on. Rachel could still remember the red mess on her face when her seven-year-old self had finally deemed herself presentable. She gotten it all over her cheeks and the uneven application had it sticking to her teeth every single time she smiled but Rachel hadn't cared, not when the lipstick had successfully distracted from her nose. She'd been so sure that a family would want her in that moment and she supposed it was purely coincidental that Santana moved in a day later.

It might be silly but she still had the gaudy lipstick she'd stolen that day. Rachel supposed she was overly sentimental enough to keep such a thing safely tucked away in her underwear drawer for all these years but she always had found a particular significance in symbolic gestures.

Metaphors were important and in some regard that cheap drug store lipstick represented all she was.

She was ten when the Berrys adopted her. Their bright smiles had endeared them to her immediately and their flare for the dramatic—using the ACLU, arm waving and an abundance of exaggerated head fakes—left her starry eyed in wonder.

Santana had yelled at her when Rachel had said she wanted to stay (with her) and, well, Leroy and Hiram were simply amazing.

They encouraged her dreams and even attempted to shower love on Santana. Admittedly that hadn't turned out particularly well—though the resulting fire was relatively minor in comparison—it was the thought that counted at the very most.

But she still had so many questions. About her biological family—who she was, where she was from—so Santana had brought her to Sue Sylvester.

And for a long time, all Rachel had was a redacted Interpol file and the knowledge that her only living relative was a criminal on the run.

She'd been accepted by NYU that summer, her dads were thrilled—Santana couldn't wait to prowl the campus for promiscuous college girls—but Rachel deferred the offer. Her mother had been out there somewhere and Rachel wanted desperately to find her.

She'd stared at that folder almost every night, read through what little information was there over and over again until one thing became perfectly clear: if the police had such a brief file on her mother, the proper channels weren't going to be a particularly successful tool to use.

Because Shelby Corcoran was a thief and if Rachel wanted to find her, she'd have to become one too.

Shaking her head, Rachel placed her glass of Chardonnay on her coffee table. Dry wine always encouraged her mind to wander, usually for the worse. Though, she supposed Quinn's rejection already had her frazzled enough to want to remember that part of her life. It might've actually been ironic—in the upmost tragic Shakespearean sense—that she'd lost Quinn for a decision that had ultimately brought them together.

Rachel reached out and corked the wine.

She'd already had way too much.

Leaning back on the couch, Rachel closed her eyes, attempting to regain enough equilibrium to clean the living room and maybe make it to bed but the knocking on her door interrupted that. It could only be a handful of people; her doorman had a very detailed list that she'd helpfully laminated for him after she'd spotted all the coffee rings on last month's edition.

The door was still standing, so it definitely wasn't Santana. Brittany obviously hadn't told her about the plan to (unsuccessfully) blackmail Quinn yet.

Sighing, Rachel slowly forced herself up and quite honestly when she opened the door, she wasn't even surprised.

"Hello, Quinn," she sighed, leaning carelessly against her door jam as her eyes took in the blonde detective. "Have you finally arrived to arrest me?"

For her part the blonde looked confused, which Rachel—still unfortunately—found charming. Hazel eyes clouded over and those soft lips started to just pout softly—Rachel decided that the blonde was intentionally being facetious in an attempt to ruin her entire life.

"I…um…no…" Quinn stepped forward, tilting her head to the side with a small grin. "Have you done something I should be arresting you for?"

Rachel waved her hand in the air, finishing with a small shrug. "I suppose it depends who you ask."

Quinn swallowed, only hesitating for a brief second before nodding. "I'm sure you already know exactly who I've questioned."

Smiling, Rachel pushed off the door and walked back into her apartment, leaving it open for Quinn to follow. The soft click had the Diva smiling softly by the time the tips of her toes touched the rug in her living room.

"Wine?" she asked, holding up the bottle and waving it back and forth while Quinn walked further into her apartment. "Or are you on duty, Detective?"

Quinn raised and eyebrow before shaking her head. "I'm not. I'd love some."

They sat on the couch sipping wine shortly after that. Rachel seemed more preoccupied with her glass while Quinn's eyes never left Rachel.

Finally the Diva sighed. "What are you doing here, Quinn? As you can undoubtedly see, I was in the middle of drowning my sorrows in one of my better Chardonnays."

The blonde detective swirled her the wine, watching it whirl and grip to the edges of the glass before sliding in haphazard lines back to which it came. "I wanted you to know that my father… well I didn't cause the accident."

Rachel giggled and hazel eyes snapped up, glinting dangerously in a warning the brunette freely ignored. "I know, Quinn, so if that's all I'd really rather get back to—"

"How could you possibly know, Rachel?" asked Quinn, sliding her glass onto the table and directing her narrowed eyes Rachel's way.

The woman in question scoffed, seemingly insulted by the question, which Rachel totally was. "At the risk of sounding rude, why do you find such a thing so important? You made it expressly clear that nothing would happen between us unless you decided to arrest me for the ridiculous unfounded rumors—"

"I'm not going to arrest you! For God sakes, Berry! Answer the damn question!"

Rachel huffed and placed her glass messily beside Quinn's. "While it seems that you used our date as some sort of sting operation because honestly I must inform you of the dreadful job your undercover detectives are doing with those taxi cab robberies, though any layman could deduce it's an inside job…I seemed to have lost my point."

"I did not use our date—"

"Oh yes," Rachel interrupted with a slight wave of her hands, "You are a wonderful liar, Quinn but I suppose the problem with lying is that doing so reveals what is most important to you. Once I read the file it was relatively easy to determine what happened after you had so convincingly lied to me about why you became a police officer. In my experience, a person with enough fortitude to intentionally cause an accident wouldn't feel guilty enough to lie about it."

Quinn looked away, out at the skyline while Rachel tried her best to give the blonde time to collect herself. Besides, she might be a tiny bit intoxicated and it was probably best to stay quiet for a little while.

"So you know that I let him…"

"Die?" offered Rachel to which Quinn meekly nodded in response. "Yes. I suspect his injuries might've been too substantial to save him anyway if you had called for assistance without the delay. But I'm unfortunately not an expert in medicine and the autopsy was hardly conclusive to—"

Quinn was kissing her, definitely kissing her. Rachel could taste the coffee and mint, watered down by her wine and her whole body tingled in excitement as she eagerly kissed back.

Their teeth clashed and lips were nipped in an insatiable battle. The kiss was wet and tongues dueled in the heat of groans and a rather deep growl that had Rachel eyes rolling back at the sound.

Quinn was certainly being intentionally (and wonderfully) facetious. God Rachel wanted her.

And the blonde pulled back, gasping for air in hurried breaths as she searched her jacket pocket for a folded piece of paper. "Take… take it. I want…I don't care—"

"I believe it would be most advantageous to talk about this later."

Rachel quickly yanked Quinn back in for a kiss, the piece of paper fluttering to the floor where it rightfully belonged.

At last.


	13. Part 13

**A/N: **_It's been such a long time for this fic, so I thought I'd come back with a bang. Sex ahead lol. Thanks to all those people that continue to read this story. This chapter is for you :) _

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**Part 13**

Quinn's back collided with the wall adjacent to Rachel's bedroom door with a dull thud. The resulting gasp of surprise quickly turned into a moan as Rachel pushed herself up against Quinn seconds later, the brunette's knee effortlessly parting the blonde's thighs leaving her pinned helplessly where she stood.

Rachel quickly rejoined their lips; their kisses were wet, sloppy, fueled by liquid courage and desperate desire. The haze of arousal started to blur inhibitions until Rachel's thigh surged up, thrusting against the appendix of Quinn's thighs.

The blonde reacted instantly, arching her back and letting out a loud moan of encouragement, as she grinded down on to the offered limb. Rachel's leg jerked harder in reaction, Quinn's lusty moan saw her head lull back, effectively separating their joined lips.

"Rachel…" Quinn gasped, as said woman kept thrusting her thigh up, insuring the seam of the blonde's jeans continued rubbing against her just right.

The brunette giggled, her lips teasingly kissing the skin of the blonde's neck. Just a fleeting brush of lips, as Rachel forged a path down to Quinn's shoulder and then back up, until she was inches away from the blonde's ear.

"By the way you're reacting, I'd imagine it's been quite of while since you've found yourself in this position, detective," Rachel whispered, the arousal almost tangible in her voice.

Quinn's answering groan left Rachel's knees weak, _La Perla_ silk now uncomfortably sticking between her thighs. She quickly latched onto the blonde's bottom lip, biting down and then thrusting her tongue forcefully into Quinn's waiting mouth. The warm, wet muscle massaging hers felt so good, Rachel moaned loudly and pressed herself more heavily against Quinn.

Hands started to roam, Rachel found herself exploring the blonde's shapely backside, first with soft caresses and then squeezing large handfuls at a time. Quinn grabbed at her hips—digging her fingertips into soft tan skin—before jolting forward and Rachel didn't realize what was happening until she was innately wrapping her legs around slender hips as Quinn held her up against her bedroom door.

"I want you so much, Rachel," whispered Quinn almost desperately in her haze of arousal.

Rachel bit her lip and let her head fall backward, shamelessly taunting Quinn with more skin. She groaned loudly when her detective took the bait and immediately latched on to her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, Rachel panting wildly in her ear.

The gentle biting where Rachel's neck met her shoulder was something that always drove Rachel wild. Her neck was already sensitive to touch but the harder sensation of nibbling teeth, the slight sting that Quinn was now expertly laving away with her tongue, just did something for the Diva.

God, this woman was heavenly and suddenly the brunette decided she wanted more.

Rachel used her elbows to push off the door, moving Quinn back enough so her feet would safely be able to touch the floor. Coincidently, her exercise regimens, as a thief happened to coincide in regards to Yoga and a few brief sessions of Pilates when compared with the regimen of a beloved Hollywood scarlet.

She broke their kiss, her smothering gaze boring into Quinn as the blonde stood panting in front of her. Smirking, Rachel pulled her tank top over her head, teasingly dropping it to the floor with a fleeting flick of her wrist.

Quinn whimpered softly at the sight: small pert breasts, dark nipples that were achingly hard, just begging for her touch. Groaning, the blonde quickly vaulted forward, pressing her mouth against Rachel's own. Lips collided furiously as pale hands stared trailing across tan skin, the feel of Rachel's quivering abs below her fingertips set her body on fire. When her knuckles finally brushed along the underside of Rachel's breasts, Quinn ripped her lips away, hands stalling as her eyes squeezed shut.

Rachel just stared, her heart beating madly at the almost reverent look the appeared on such a beautiful face. She slowly brought her hand up, pushing silky locks back and gently curving them around Quinn's ear.

"What's wrong?" Rachel whispered, biting her lip when hazel eyes fluttered open, gazing into her own.

They were so bright, so green compared to their usual bronzed depths.

Quinn cupped the brunette's breasts in her hands, squeezing the soft mounds of fresh gently. The Diva cried out, panting loudly as Quinn continued her assault.

"You were right," whispered Quinn, her voice raspier with arousal. "I haven't done this in a long time."

Rachel's hands were back in blonde hair, weaving her fingers through the soft curls, tugging the second the blonde's palms brushed deliciously over her erect nipples.

Gasping, the brunette arched her back to press her breasts more fully into Quinn's hands. "Me neither. I… God Quinn…"

Rachel groaned, hooking one of her legs around Quinn's waist, her hips suddenly thrusting as Quinn drew one of Rachel's nipples into her mouth. A hot tongue lathered the sensitive peak, her lips sucking gently while Rachel continued to whimper and thrash in the blonde's hold. Quinn then slowly made her way to the other one, catching the tiny bead between her teeth and biting down lightly, flicking the tip with her tongue.

Rachel gasped, tugging on blonde hair as her head lulled back into the door.

"Fuck, Rach," Quinn whimpered after a particularly hard tug that had her looking down at the brunette with hooded eyes.

Rachel stared right back and Quinn's breath caught in her chest. Shirt gone, chest heaving, lips bruised and eyes wild: Rachel Berry looked so fucking sexy. Growling, Quinn was quickly ripping at the tie of the brunette's pajama pants, nuzzling into the diva's neck, as her fingers started gently massaging Rachel's panty-covered clit. Rachel shuddered in her arms, pressing her throbbing core against the slender fingers as they continued to glide over the sticky silk of her panties. The tiny brunette feverishly tried to match Quinn's steady pace, as they both stared intensely at each other.

"Yes, Quinn, please," Rachel cried, moaning when the blonde sped up her fingers, her thumb began rubbing hard tight circles against Rachel's clit.

Until she stopped.

Rachel barely had time to whimper in protest before Quinn slammed two fingers inside of her.

"Quinn!" Rachel shrieked, her eyes fluttering shut as the blonde started moving. "God yes, please, please."

Quinn continued thrusting, curling her fingers with every thrust and Rachel could feel it: the heat spreading though her body and cumulating heavily in the pit of her stomach. She leaned back slightly, causing Quinn's fingers to push even deeper into her. She felt so full—she could hardly breathe her head spun, her heart beating wildly as she panted in Quinn's ear—and she just wanted to get more of those fingers inside her. She was just desperate to keep up with Quinn's thrusts inside of her.

And then the blonde had hit that spot, massaging it with the tips of her fingers relentlessly.

"Yes, there, yes!" screamed Rachel.

Her hips were bucking erratically as her leg slid down to the floor for more leverage. She barely felt the bruising hold Quinn had on her hips in an attempt to keep her still because Rachel honestly couldn't remember the last time she felt this good. Probably the last time she'd sex that she could remember in the morning, though she had no doubt that Brittany was quite proficient in bed.

And by God, Andrea was a long time ago.

"Fuck, you feel so good... cum for me Rachel, please cum."

Quinn's babbling broke Rachel from her thoughts, the vulgar, almost pleading quality to them was enough to send Rachel over the edge. The tension in her stomach released abruptly and a burning heat coursed through her body like a tidal wave that gushed from her core. She was vaguely aware of the high keening noise emitting from her throat as she rocked against Quinn, riding out wave after wave of bliss.

Quinn whimpered at the feeling of Rachel's walls crushing her fingers inside, as the tiny brunette slumped into her, body still shaking from the aftershocks.

Finally Rachel shifted, managing to put her weight back on her own two feet.

"That was entirely worth the trouble courting you afforded me," Rachel mumbled into Quinn's neck, kissing it gently in almost an after thought.

The detective laughed, her arms absently squeezing Rachel into a tighter embrace. "I see why it's been a long time for you if you court all your conquests through blackmail."

Rachel pulled away, mouth already open to begin a rant to defend her character—because when Rachel Berry chooses to court an individual the process is personally designed with said conquest in mind—but Quinn didn't allow her the chance, pulling the brunette into a kiss instead.

Rachel was effectively distracted for the rest of the night.

In fact, she didn't wake up until Santana's patented slamming on the door broke through her sleepy haze at noon. Rachel instinctively reached over for Quinn until she remembered Quinn waking her before she left to get ready for work sometime this morning. Sighing, Rachel grabbed her robe on the back of the door and begrudgingly went to open her apartment's rattling front door.

As expected, Santana instantly pushed passed her, stocking into the bedroom and then coming out moments later, looking angrier than she naturally would. The Latina then proceeded to glance around before returning her glare to Rachel.

"Where the hell is she, Berry?"

For a moment Rachel contemplated pledging ignorance but ultimately decided it was best to deal with her friend at a five on her personal scale to rate Santana's possibility for murder.

"Left for work this morning," Rachel answered, yawning with a nonchalance shrug. "Could you perhaps delay whatever insulting diatribe you've planned for a moment while I procure myself a cup of coffee?"

Santana's eyes narrowed and she huffed (rather dramatically because Rachel would know) before rolling her eyes. "Whatever, shrimp. I'll be on the balcony, I need a cigarette."

Rachel decided now wasn't the time to lecture the woman on the dangers of employing smoking as a coping mechanism. Instead, she retrieved her coffee and met Santana on the balcony. She was sitting on one of the two cast iron chairs surrounding the matching table off to the side of the small space.

Ultimately, Rachel bought her penthouse for the windows, not the balcony. Though, the view was certainly a vast improvement from the brick wall her first apartment afforded her, an apartment that had a rather giant balcony actually.

Rachel placed a cup in front of Santana, as she sat down and continued to sip from her own. Her friend just seemed interested in chain smoking and Rachel supposed her delay tactic proved to be enough to calm the Latina down, though she was still quite curious. Santana was always full of witty insults and offensive one liners, especially when she felt she was justified, so silence could only mean something undoubtedly worse.

"I'm quite aware that you're not actually angry about Quinn, mostly because you know me well enough by now to know I'd do something like this," Rachel glanced over at Santana just in time to see her violently put out a cigarette in the bright yellow handprint ashtray Brittany made them at her pottery class she signed up for with a person from Motocross. "I'm going to request you explain it to me because an argument isn't at all conducive if we find ourselves battling on different subjects."

Santana shrugged. "Its nothing, Berry. Same shit, different day."

Rachel put her coffee down on the table, gazing out at the tops of the trees in Central Park. She doubted she'd need a jog today after her extracurriculars with Quinn. Rachel smiled at the thought before her mind flitted back to Santana.

"As far as I'm aware, you're only ever like this when Brittany withholds sex, which would explain why you felt the need to project the majority of your anger onto my relationship with Quinn. So I'll ask, what did you do?"

Santana sighed, finally picking up the coffee cup Rachel had set out for her, the pack of Marlboro's left forgotten beside the ashtray.

"Brit wants to get married," the Latina fiddled with her mug, lips twitching at the thought before they dropped into a steady frown. "Move somewhere with a yard so we can get a dog… something she knows I can never give her."

Rachel nodded, thinking of Brittany barking along side a tiny golden puppy as they giggled in the grass. "Baring the legality issue, you can give her that, Santana. I've already told you that—"

"No," Coffee sloshed on the table as Santana all but threw her mug down, "I'm not leaving you, Rachel. I don't care what you think, it ain't happening so you and Brit can just stop trying, okay!"

Rachel sighed. "Even if that means losing, Brittany?"

She watched Santana hesitate, her jaw set as such a scenario flew through her mind and then she turned to look at her, eyes dark and cold. "Yes, even if I… lose, Brittany."

"Okay," whispered Rachel, as they both looked away from each other as the seriousness of the statement set in.

Rachel thought about Santana. The first day they met, how a young Santana strolled into her room and promptly kicked her off the top bunk, calling her Chuckie's bride in the process. How she fearlessly defended her against the kids in their foster home and out, even though Santana was almost as tiny as her too. She blindly followed her as she sought after her mother; every twist turn and obstacle along the way Santana was there to help plan a way out.

Rachel bit her lip, looking over at the woman that meant so much to her. "How about if you were able to practically remove the dangers that could befall Brittany if you did wed?"

Santana's head whipped over, her eyes boring into hers, her slack jawed expression was almost comical, considering Santana was rarely surprised by much.

"You're not saying that—"

"Before you finish, I'd like to remind you that ever since _Runaway Bride_ demonstrated the effectiveness of a well thought out exit strategy, I've been hard at work to make such a thing possible, for all of us."

Santana was quickly shaking her head, eyes rolling as they usually did during one of Rachel's insane rants. "Berry, you do know that movie is about Julia Roberts running away from her loser boyfriends because she wants to golf with Joan Cusack more than Richard Gere, right?"

"Semantics," Rachel quickly waved Santana's opinion away, without anymore thought. "Besides it was quite clear that after the second go around the wedding rehearsals were obviously used to case the place for possible escape routes. Clearly you're not—"

"Okay, dear God, I'll let the metaphor pass, just stop," Santana proceeded to massage her temples, mumbling in Spanish under her breath until Rachel did finally look slightly embarrassed. Then Santana turned deadly serious in a blink of an eye. "Berry, if we do what you're suggesting, that means you'll lose everything. DangerStar Records, your career, Detective Fabulously-gay…"

Rachel frowned, her eyes closing at the realization that she'd successfully avoided thus far. "I know…"

It was mumbled softly, as Rachel looked away. She wasn't sure which of the three she was most plagued about losing. The possibility that it could be Quinn was slightly worrying if not completely depressing in the end.

Santana sighed, realizing that it ultimately came down to one thing. The conversation was getting entirely too awkward for her liking, if even Berry looked wilted under its strain.

"Why?" she asked finally because Rachel always had an ulterior motive for doing things, whether it was all self-serving or just annoyingly nice.

It was just who she was, which was both completely irritating—so much so that Santana had contemplated stabbing her eye out with a fountain pen on more than one occasion—and the absolute best thing about her all rolled into one.

Rachel straightened up and Santana winced when she realized the woman was about to cry. "Because you're worth more than all that to me."

Santana just nodded and silence loomed around them until, "So is it true that your Berry cherry grows back if you're a fuckin' prude?"

Rachel proceeded to gasp dramatically and huff and puff her whole house down.

Santana hoped that was a sign that everything would be okay, even though she wasn't planning on letting Rachel completely drown with the ship. Like hell her honeymoon was being ruined because of Berry's ineptness at almost everything that didn't involve small spaces and breathing control.


	14. Part 14

**A/N: **_Just a thanks to those who continue to review. I greatly appreciate it :)_

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**Part 14**

Rachel Berry was always prepared and since Santana—more or less—treated Rachel's apartment as her own, Rachel felt it necessary to have the cupboards always filled with her two best friends favourite snacks.

Skittles for Brittany—except for the red ones because they reminded her too much of lady bugs—anything cream-filled for Santana—today she'd picked up a dozen doughnuts from the tiny bakery down the street—and Wine Gums for Rachel—unfortunately their deliciousness had no explanation.

Brittany was curled up on the couch next to Santana. She'd periodically stick her hand into the giant bowl in her lap, jostling the tiny candies around until finally pulling out just one.

"Look San," she held out the orange treat in her palm, the one two minutes ago had been yellow. "I got orange this time. I like that it's a colour and a fruit."

Santana smiled. "Me too, B."

The moment had Rachel smiling too, as she stood near the coffee table, tiny black remote in hand. She raised it up to the projector set up beside her on a few hardcover books and the first slide clicked on.

Unsurprisingly, Santana was groaning (in agony) getting louder the more Rachel ignored her. Brittany just continued to clap excitedly.

"Thank you, Brittany," Rachel said, still steadfast in her attempts at disregarding the Latina by not even sparing her a glance. "I'm fortunate somebody in this room recognizes the wonderful presentational experience _PowerPoint_ affords an audience."

"Welcome," Brittany shoved another Skittle—this time purple—into her mouth. "I know the elves don't have TV at the North Pole so I understand."

Santana snorted, as she gazed into the box in her lap. Rachel was immediately glaring at her to which the Latina just pulled out a doughnut and took a bite with a roll of her eyes.

"That's great, Brittany," Rachel frowned briefly before turning back to look at the _PowerPoint_ being currently projected on the far wall. "As you can see, I've taken the time to compile a full presentation to illustrate my plan for our escape." Santana raised her hand, waving it obnoxiously in the air. Rachel sighed. "Yes, Santana."

"I thought you already did all this shit during you're three month stint as a hobbit recluse after Andro-bitch left." Santana shrugged her shoulders at Rachel's exasperated look and then Brittany was raising her hand.

Only the blonde started talking before Rachel could call on her. "I knew Andrea could shoot me with her boobs."

She then started moving her own chest back and forth, as if spraying the entire living room with bullets, something Santana immediately copied with a smug grin.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "While that is most intriguing, I really think that all questions will be answered if you'd just allow me to begin with my presentation. It only consists of five slides, though I'd prefer to refer to them as acts because every plan is essentially a play in itself. It's down right tragic that a musical only affords me two acts to—"

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Santana groaned to which Brittany helpfully stuffed a handful of Skittles in to her girlfriend's mouth.

The Latina coughed, mumbling something unintelligible before she started chewing under Brittany's watchful gaze.

When the blonde seemed satisfied, she turned to look at Rachel. "I'm excited, Rachie."

"Thank you, Brittany," Rachel smiled before glancing back at the screen. "Now as Santana said, most of the first few acts have already been completed but I couldn't simply sit by and let my last opportunity to play out an iconic flashback scene that every notable heist film—"

"Dear God, just get on with it."

Apparently, Santana had managed to swallow all of the candy Brittany force-fed her.

Rachel sighed, before petulantly clicking the button on her remote to flip to the next slide. "Act one is funding because as you can imagine financing ones disappearance is quite expensive, not to mention the more pressing issue of what becomes of our company and our combined fortunes."

"Is that when you put all your money in a big gun until it becomes liquid?" Brittany interrupted, her brow furrowed before looking back and forth between the two brunettes.

"Yes," Rachel nodded, smiling at Brittany, "but we have our employees to consider, not to mention how easily traceable a sum of money that great can be."

Santana groaned. "You went to Chang, didn't you? I thought I told you to stay out of that paraplegic Lo Mein love shape?"

"Can you let me educe the flashback please?" Frustration had Rachel's arms driving through in the air. "Was I not clear when I explained that all your questions would be answered within it?"

Santana gestured to Brittany—because she had interrupted too—until she realized the blonde was glaring at her as well. The Latina quickly wilted back into the couch cushions with a huff.

"Whatever, dwarf," Santana scoffed before peevishly biting into a doughnut, "knock yourself out… literally."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Again, as I was saying, I went to visit Mike Chang after funding an all night Julia Roberts movie marathon on _Netflix_…"

_Mike was sitting in front of her, sipping coffee as he flipped through Rachel's well-documented finances. A good accountant was hard to find, especially one that was reputable enough not to take advantage of her trusting nature while simultaneously offering to hide all her money in a Swiss bank account if she so chose. _

_Rachel also appreciated his low-key approach to his profession. Meeting her for coffee in a polo shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops, it was far less stressful than strolling into one of the synonymous high rises in New York to nefariously conspire in a corner office on the top floor. __It was how she'd met his father and though they were only speaking about the contract for her company's payroll, it certainly felt wicked in some underlying way. The man's navy double-breasted suit (with matching tie) didn't help matters either, since Rachel found synonymous colours highly distracting._

_It made it all that more apparent why Mike lived to dance and only continued crunching numbers to please his father. Speculation that Tina was pregnant also might've been a mitigating factor, after all family was important in times of expectance._

_At any rate, Brittany had known Mike—they'd dance together at a private party Brittany and a few girls from the club were contracted to work at—and Santana had deemed him acceptable after a week of surveillance. Rachel was all too happy to request her file be transfered to the younger Chang immediately._

_She sipped from her green tea as she watched him; it was obvious to see why Tina left Artie so harshly behind. Michael Chang had a presence that was quite alluring._

_His blue eyes were suddenly staring into hers._

"_What you're asking is doable, Rachel but it's not going to be easy." He tossed the manila file onto the table and gestured to it with his hand. "There are a lot of details that need to be accounted for and then the legality issues would have to be handled independently by someone without an allegiance to my father."_

"_Brittany has known you a long time Mike." Rachel was cognizant of her present public setting so she just smiled encouragingly; her usual instinct for tactile support had been tampered down do to experience with exaggerated gossip headlines. "Though her recollection of you're meeting continues to be a bit hazy with specifics, you've never let us down in the past when we required your assistance to locate my mother. Surely anybody you choose to outsource those legal issues to can be trusted."_

_He sighed, running his hands threw his already tousled head of hair. "Look, this is going to take a little while, not to mention you and Santana need to decide the fate of your company, the rest of your assets, all that stuff."_

_Rachel smiled. "Mike this is just a contingency plan, I don't ever necessarily see it coming into actual fruition but if it does it will probably be years from now. All I need is the funding for a few off book purchases. The rest can be focused at a later date."_

_Finally he looked up and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." _

"That's enthralling," Santana sighed, Rachel noticed her doughnut box was empty. "Moral is we're hitting him up to press the easy button some time soon."

Brittany was quick to smack her girlfriend shoulder. "You ruined the story, San. Have some Skittles, orgasms are better when your tongue looks like a rainbow."

Rachel's eyes widened until, resign, she shook her head. "Yes, we'll have to make the call soon. He was nice enough to email me a list of things that will need to be considered, the most of which I've already handled. The rest, I feel like it is imperative that we sort them out now. "

Santana shook her head "Yeah whatever. Next slide, dwarf, I don't have all freakin' day."

"But San, isn't it important to find those answers now?" Brittany interjected, her blue eyes gazing at Santana while Rachel just looked on smugly.

"Fine," Santana sighed before looking between the two other women in the room, watching as Rachel took a seat on the coffee table beside her beloved projector. "Everything I have can go to your dads, Berry. Problem solved."

"That's so nice, San," Brittany squealed before tackling the Latina with kisses.

The blonde then pulled away, glassy eyed and breathless. Rachel giggled, shaking her head.

"I want to donate to charity," Brittany said suddenly, looking up at Rachel. "I can, right?"

The brunette Diva nodded. "Yes, I was thinking something along the same lines as well but at any rate, I suppose we can finalize such things in our meeting later on. The company is the most vital in the decisions we have to make and since we all own relatively equal shares, I don't see coming to a decision very hard."

Santana laughed but quickly sighed when Brittany hit her arm once again. "I thought it was imperative that we decide now, Berry?"

"Well I suppose…" Rachel trailed off before giving a sheepish shrug, "I suppose I was hoping you'd have a solution that doesn't involve selling to a long time rival."

The Latina rolled her eyes but it was halfheartedly, as she was already deep in thought in search of a solution. Brittany just continued to eat her way through her Skittles and Rachel supposed it was the perfect time for act two.

Admittedly, these interludes between had ruined the effect of the classic flashback scene she'd been trying to emulate but Rachel supposed it didn't quite matter when all her other attempts had been widely successful.

Yes, it was rather fun making Santana suffer through these every time they were contracted for a heist.

Rachel clapped her hands in a bid for attention before announcing, "The widely anticipated act two is entitled: location, since I believe where we are going is highly important to the overall plan. While completing this step I compiled a list of all three of our personal preferences—"

"Hold up, Berry," Rachel's mouth immediately snapped shut under Santana's heated gaze. "You best not be telling me that you picked our homes for—"

Rachel's phone started blaring from the kitchen. The Diva's head popped up, something reminiscent of a meerkat in the face of danger, before she scurried off. Santana was left growling on the couch with Brittany soothingly rubbing her arm.

"Quinn," was heard from the kitchen. "Yes, I had a great time as well."

The Latina groaned and slammed one of Rachel's many decorative pillows against her face in an attempt to drown out Rachel's voice.

Brittany slid up next to her and wrapped her up in her arms. "Don't worry, San. When I asked, she totally told me that our sex swing would fit."

She was going to kill, Berry.


	15. Part 15

**A/N: **_Another chapter earning the M-rating. The painting heist is next but I thought this was important to put in first. Thanks to all those that continue to read, it means so much._

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**Part 15**

Rachel groaned softly, as the sun leisurely started peak through her blinds and Quinn slowly slid her fingers—dripping and wet—from deep inside Rachel. The blonde buried her face in the brunette's neck, the comingled smell of sweat and sex freely invading her senses.

"That was amazing, Quinn," whispered Rachel, panting slightly as she still attempted to catch her breath amongst the still ever pleasant residual tingles.

Quinn kissed her way down to the brunette's chest, leisurely nuzzling the peaks before drawing a softened nipple into her mouth and sucking gently. The weight of Quinn's body pinning her down was quite delightful, as the blonde continued to suckle at her breasts, the sensation seemingly more intimate than arousing.

It was a particular thing Quinn appeared to enjoy doing—particularly after sex—and Rachel could only bask in it. Such a thing was rather endearing, the fact that the hardened NYPD detective loved having her nipples in her mouth.

Quinn pulled her mouth from Rachel's nipple with a wet pop, hazel eyes gazing up into brown with a particularly somber expression.

"I have to leave soon," she sighed, pale hands reaching up to run her fingers all over the swell of the brunette's chest: first in tiny circles, then squares with the odd letter 'Q' before they fully started to caress. "There's a case I need to investigate."

Rachel sighed softly, visibly enjoying the reverent attention. "Tell me about it."

Quinn's ministrations only faltered for a moment before lightly kissing the slightly darkener skin around the nipple, moaning softly as she felt the areola tighten under the soft petals of her lips.

"Another jeweler was robbed. The store at twenty-first and Lex," Quinn mumbled, as her lips continued to worship the brunette's breasts, stopping to lick at a nipple as if it were a frosty swirl. "Smash and grab but they took some heirlooms from the safe too."

Rachel gasped before her hand ventured down, tangling in blonde curls as she lightly tugged Quinn's head up. "I'm regrettably going to have to cease your fun, if you're not planning on venturing down any further. I can't have you leaving for work while I'm painfully aroused."

Quinn leaned forward, the brunette's eyes fluttering at the brushing of lips, barely there and then moving softly, insistently against her own. Tongues eagerly sliding, slipping, tangling together, Rachel moaned quietly as Quinn broke away.

Grinning, the blonde bit her lip, her gaze downright teasing. "I always finish what I start, Rachel."

"Is that so?" giggled Rachel, reaching to push some of the unruly blonde hair from hazel eyes as Quinn resumed kissing supple tan skin. "Well then I must confess, your case is entirely an inside job."

Quinn nipped at the underside of those taunt round globes before reluctantly dragging her lips downward. "How so?"

"God, Quinn," Rachel whimpered slightly, grasping Quinn's hair tighter, tugging when her tongue playfully circled her belly button. "A crew apt enough to crack a safe as highly toted as a Glen-Reeder Prestige would not be interested in anything on display. Therefore…uhh."

The resulting moan was obscenely loud as Quinn's tongue swiped at Rachel's heated core, once, twice and then she murmured, "I have the manager in for questioning first thing."

Supple lips brushing against the sensitized skin with every word, Rachel gripped Quinn's head all but forcing her closer. The blonde whimpered softly, her nose bumping Rachel's aching clit as she moved down slightly, dipping her tongue between those rosy red folds.

"Mmm," Rachel hummed with a slight buck of her hips. "I suppose we'll…we'll have to make this mut…mutually beneficial then."

She yanked at Quinn's head, pulling her up until the blonde's dripping wet chin was hovering just above her. Lips clashed, sliding together, the taste was divine and then Quinn was filled with two fingers.

"Yes, baby," the blonde cried, the pet name had Rachel's hips bucking faster, her hand pounding harder.

Quinn could feel it, surging forward, that white-hot heat until it gushed out of her, flooding the hand that was deep inside her. Rachel's hips suddenly jerked, as she followed close behind with a scream.

Both were panting, holding onto each other tightly as the heat in their bodies died down. Finally Quinn, rolled off of Rachel—who had her eyes serenely closed—to lie next to her on the bed. Rachel lethargically moved to cuddle up with her seconds later.

"It's a shame you have to go to work, Quinn," the brunette mumbled into the blonde's neck, pressing a chaste kiss on the skin beneath her lips.

Quinn hugged the woman closer and nuzzled her nose into Rachel's hair. "I could come over after."

"Mmm," Rachel sighed contentedly, Quinn could feel Rachel's satisfied smile against her skin, "I wish you could but I have standing mandatory plans with Santana tonight."

The blonde giggled. "What does one do with Santana Lopez that is labeled mandatory?"

Rachel pulled back to look up at her, amused smile gracing her lips. She thought about telling the truth—_oh well retrieve a painting from an obnoxious banker residing on the upper east side of course_—but then reasoned Santana could possibly rise from the depths of Hell at any moment to bludgeon her to death with a lamb shank.

And death by meat was certainly not worth the risk.

"That's need to know, Detective Fabray," she drawled with a teasing tap to Quinn's nose that the blonde immediately jostled away.

Quinn's resulting frown was entirely too cute and Rachel found herself kissing the side of the blonde's head affectionately. Silence followed, both basking in the presence of other. Rachel started tracing the defined muscle underneath her fingertips and Quinn breathed in the (ironically) scented Berry shampoo in Rachel's hair.

Then Quinn shifted somewhat until she was looking into deep dark chocolate eyes. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

Rachel decided that there was indeed too much, even with her frequently updated _Wikipedia_ page. Still, expectant hazel eyes were demanding her be forthcoming with something.

"Well, it is most important you know that my favourite colour is aurora pink," Rachel finally said. "It was the colour of my prom dress senior year. I won prom queen, though I'm mostly sure Santana was responsible for somehow skewing the results."

Quinn laughed, trying to picture a young Rachel as queen in a teeny tiny pink dress. She'd won prom queen as well, her mother was so proud. Quinn thought it would be something more. "Rachel, I'm pretty sure that's available in a _Google _search."

Rachel frowned, was nothing sacred? Well admittedly, it was quite possible Rachel might've shared the story, considering their legal team at DangerStar mostly dealt with the legality issues stemming from Santana's fondness for abusing the paparazzi and Ryan Seacrest.

"My mother was eighteen when she gave birth to me and her father forced her into adoption in attempts to save her future," Rachel sighed, thinking back to the day when Shelby shared this harrowing tale herself. "Things got exceedingly difficult after that and she fled, living the life of a transient until she met Sue."

Quinn looked entirely enthralled but Rachel wasn't completely sure, hence the backdrop of silence. Quinn reached out, her hand trailing soothingly down Rachel's back. "You don't have to tell me anymore, if you don't want to."

Rachel nodded, her teeth nibbling at her lip before a surge of anxiety hit her fast. "As an actress my livelihood is in story telling, Quinn! How can I possibly fail to measure up?"

Rachel was sitting up now, Quinn quickly pulled her back down, trapping her underneath her. "I'm the only witness to this unforgivable misstep and I don't care, okay?"

Reluctantly, Rachel nodded, though she was inwardly relieved. Shelby was always a highly sensitive subject but part of her thought it was necessary to share her inner most pain in hopes of solidifying her standing with Quinn emotionally. To make this more than just really great sex, even though she knew it was doomed to end the moment they executed Operation Runaway Bride. It was far too easy to ascertain exactly why, so she kissed Quinn instead.

The blonde didn't seem at all opposed to the idea.

Thirty minutes later, the sun had fully risen in the east and her blonde detective was out the door to her early morning interview. Rachel was most confident that the manager would confess and it was enough to earn her a breathtaking farewell kiss. She had promised to call Quinn if her plans concluded ahead of schuedule and Rachel was going to try her best to make sure that they very much did.


	16. Part 16

**A/N:** _Just a quick thank you to all those who took the time to review. Enjoy!_

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**Part 16**

The life of a thief was wholly tedious in some respects. It was fully comparable to the mystical list that jolly Saint Nick was known for checking twice. Only as a thief due diligence involved a more extensive list—and a great many more plans—since Rachel suspected she wouldn't far well caged behind bars, even in the penitentiary so suitably named Sing Sing.

Such a thing wasn't a bother though; mundane days over blueprints and detailed notes of reconnaissance were quite calming when placed in her relatively hectic life style. It was what followed that presented the aforementioned tediousness and tension headaches.

"Are you using the _Pepto_ rig again, Berry?"

And her earpiece crackled to life and thus the tediousness began. Santana was now entirely free to send loud bursts of harassment bellowing through her ear canal while partaking in her actual job of observing the security feed on the monitors in the van out front, courtesy of the poor technician that Brittany and Santana seduced at the security company last week.

Rachel sighed. "Yes, Santana. As you are aware, my small stature makes it hard to find rigs that are fitted to properly balance my weight so having them specially—"

"Yeah, not really caring," interrupted Santana, as Rachel rolled her eyes because her friend inquired about her hot pink rigging device every time. "Mall Cop is busy getting handsy with his flashlight. You're on, Shortcake."

Absently nodding, Rachel began unscrewing the vent that separated her from the banker's office. One would probably be at the ready with a joke at her expense if they were to have spotted her at this very moment, after contacting the proper authorities of course.

Rachel Berry was dressed entirely in black, lurking in the shadows of an air duct; it was entirely laughable in some circles.

Still, she moved the vent grate to the side before quickly double-checking the magnetic pulley she had attached to the side of the duct. Everything appeared sound and Rachel felt the beginnings of that prior to performance exhilaration start to fester down low in her stomach.

"Santana," Rachel murmured, exhaling calmly through her nose, "I'm ready to proceed in which case I'll need the motion detectors deactivated at your earliest convenience, please."

She heard the taping of keys—a few curse words, entirely in Spanish—and then, "Hey, baby-burglar, get a move on already. Me and Brits gots plans, so if you touch the damn floor I'll ends you."

Rachel promptly rolled her eyes before easing herself down through the opening in the ceiling and into the room. A quick glance around and there it was, hanging terrestrially on bland beige walls.

Not at all fitting of its magnificence.

Shaking her head, Rachel quickly unzipped the small pouch strapped to her waist. The painting was protected by an alarm in conjunction with a pressure-plated floor, the motion detectors and the in-house building security. Not at all the best they'd ever faced, but certainly nowhere near the worst, yet all together useless against something as crude as a box cutter. Rachel supposed Santana and Brittany's apt skills of seduction deserved a mention as well.

She'd just moved herself a little further down to inspect the painting's frame when the melodic sounds of Idina Menzel surrounded her. Rachel just caught the box cutter from tumbling out of her hand.

"Berry, these coms are shit. I'm getting interference…" When Santana's booming voice trailed off, Rachel's eyes fell shut in defeat. She'd forgotten to switch off her phone. "Oh my God, you best be telling me that I'm not hearing that witch song you and Andro-bitch used to use as a mating call."

Brown eyes snapped open and Rachel let out an irritated huff. "The song is _Defying Gravity_, Santana and I'll have you know that even I'm not gaudy enough to purchase a ringtone—"

"Ay dios mio, just answer the god damn phone before your midget ass gets hauled away to jail!" Santana screamed, followed by the distinct smashing of something wholly expensive and a couple dozen more threats in Spanish.

Rachel's eardrums started to pound and honestly such a mistake didn't constitute the breaking of objects. The ringer wasn't excessively loud; it was entirely fine and certainly not enough for her to be caught over.

"That's absurd, Santana," she scoffed while finally fumbling for her phone when Idina's voice started up again. "Rachel Berry is not about to be bested by the security guard currently making hand puppets on a wall with his flashlight not just five minutes ago. Surely—"

"Berry," Santana barked with a roll of her eyes, "there were no puppets—"

"Good evening, Mike." Rachel decided it was best to just plead ignorance until Santana had a chance to calm down, so she retrieved the Bluetooth headset from her pouch and answered the phone as she prepared her knife.

There was a pause before Mike said, "I didn't call at a bad time, did I?"

"No, you have impeccable timing." And he did, since their conversation would distract Santana enough to insure her friend didn't realize Rachel's forgetfulness stemmed from being consumed by thoughts of Quinn. "I'm actually just finishing up a bit of an art project. What can I do for you?"

Rachel heard Santana snort—obviously somewhat amused—and the Diva's barely audible sigh of relief was enough to afford her the concentration to start cutting the masterpiece from the frame. If she jostled it in anyway, the alarm would activate.

"I have some bad news, Rachel," Mike mumbled, though he did sound entirely contrite and such things did not bode well for her. "That thing we talked about… I'm sorry, I tried but…"

The knife was quickly put away, the painting carefully rolled up and slipped into the case on her back, and the alarm was still blissfully unaware since the frame was never removed.

But this news posed a problem.

Rachel sighed. "Mike, I don't quite understand—"

"All of your accounts have been red flagged, Rachel," he explained and quite honestly Rachel wasn't sure how that was possible, although the rather loud cursing in her ear (again) had Rachel believing that Santana knew. "I'm risking a lot just calling you right now but... I guess I thought it was the right thing to do. You'll understand if I don't pick up next time?"

She was back in the vent, neatly packing her gear into the accompanying backpack and reattaching the grate to the ceiling. Santana was still quite upset but Rachel just couldn't help still being polite. "Yes, thank you, Mike. I appreciate all you've done."

And then (rather dramatically) the phone went dead.

Biting her lip, Rachel crawled through the ducts, so utterly confused because how could Operation Runaway Bride fail so miserably? She suspected it might've been the wrong Julia Roberts movie to draw inspiration from. In hindsight, _Ocean's 11_ would've at least been more relevant.

"Hi-ho your ass to the van already, Berry. I wants to get my mack on."

Oddly enough, so did Rachel.

Julia Roberts could wait until later, she supposed.


	17. Part 17

**A/N:** _This story doesn't seem to be all that popular nowadays but I'm going to try to offer an ending for it anyway. It wouldn't be fair to those that are reading it if I didn't. Enjoy :)_

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**Part 17**

Surprisingly, Santana preferred the bars she frequented to be relatively non-descript. Alcohol served by the glass, not the bottle and the clientele were just overtly ordinary people relaxing after the daily nine-to-five grind.

Liquor bottles stood arrogantly behind the bar—looking enticing enough to tempt even the most straight-laced person's mouth to water—while Rachel's finger delicately traced the edge of her previously ordered glass of tonic and Tanqueray.

Santana mumbled something—entirely in Spanish—before tipping her head back, sucking down the last of the amber bitters in the bottom of her tumbler. Her chin fell back against her hands, their French tips currently digging into the worn wood of the bar.

Rachel sighed. "Santana, don't you think you're being slightly over-dramatic?"

The bartender came over to replace Santana's drink, a crooked smile plastered all over his face. His dark eyes flitted from Rachel's down to the obnoxiously large diamond ring Santana had resting on the bar top, only slipping away when another patron called out for a refill.

Her friend didn't move, continuing to stare at the ring, eerily not blinking much at all. Rachel rolled her eyes before liberally sipping from her drink, waiting while her palate adjusted to the sharp taste.

"I purchased a ring for Andrea," Rachel continued, since it didn't seem like Santana was particularly motivated to join the conversation, "and I promise you it wasn't the end of days that you're—"

"Andro-bitch isn't Brittany, Berry," Santana grumbled while her hand reached out to grab her newly replaced whiskey sour.

Rachel winced as she watched the Latina gulp it down, thinking back to when she'd decided on a ring, got down on one knee after their run on _Wicked_ came to an end.

Shaking her head, Rachel sighed. "While not exactly the same, the message is still quite similar. You're ready for this, Santana. There is nothing to be afraid of."

The Latina slammed her empty glass down on the bar top, causing Rachel to jump in her seat and her hand innately flying up to calm the rapidly beating heart in her chest.

Santana's dark eyes cut to hers with lightning fast speed. "I know that, okay. Just...what if she deserves better?"

Rachel frowned, as Santana gestured to the bartender for a refill by waving her glass in the air. His crooked smile was quickly back with another drink, dark eyes appraising Rachel and then the ring—once again—only this time he stood there, pretending to wipe the bar with the towel off his shoulder. Santana took another large gulp, muttering more indecipherable Spanish while the drink nipped at her tongue. The glass was slid soundlessly back against the bar seconds later when Santana noticed the guy's half-hearted attempts to clean right there in front of her.

"Can I help you?" she hissed, glaring into his baby blue eyes.

His future was quite bleak if Santana's voice was any indication. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't managed to figure that out just yet and as he ran his hand though his already slick hair—eagerly putting that crooked smile back onto his face—Santana couldn't help but thank Berry's knack for attracting douche-bag men.

"Nah, just waiting for your pretty friend to finish up her drink," he said, cocking his head over at Rachel with a quick little wink.

Something the tiny Diva utterly missed, as she absently shook her glass from side-to-side, watching the ice cubes jostle around for position.

Santana smirked. "Berry, Lloyd the Bartender wants to get you another drink."

"What?" Brown eyes blinked and Rachel hazily gazed around, as Santana's words filtered into her conscious. "Oh, well, I'm quite alright for now, thank you. Unfortunately, you've somehow managed to horribly ruin my favourite drink with too much Tanqueray, which I'm guessing is your attempt to get me inebriated enough to ignore the five o'clock shadow conspicuously spread across your entire face and sleep with you."

Santana nodded. "If she wanted a toothbrush to the vag, shit would at least have to be dentist recommended."

"Whatever, I don't need this." His jaw clenched—as he grumbled something entirely more scathing under his breath—before moving on to the blonde at the other end of the bar.

Rachel sighed

Santana rolled her eyes and took another large whiskey filled gulp. "What's wrong with you, Berry? I'm the one putting a ring on it while you're still all up in bacon fat."

Sometimes, Santana could be entirely too frustrating. If Rachel wasn't so fearful of the bartender spitting in her drink, she would've ordered another. So perhaps. it might've been divine intervention when her phone started to ring and the white device angrily rattled across the bar top.

"Nothing is remotely wrong, Santana," Rachel shrugged while eagerly finishing the last of her drink, "but you're right. Brittany doesn't deserve anything at all close to this but you can't deny her if she desires it anyway."

She started to greet her caller—as she watched Santana swallow what was remaining in her glass—only she wasn't even afforded the chance to finish before being rudely interrupted.

"Rachel Berry, Coach Sue has been made aware of your latest heist and she wants you to know it is nothing to be proud of. That a coke addicted chimpanzee could do far better without all the squeals of Glee."

"That's highly inappropriate considering—"

"Coach doesn't care so much about that but she's heard of your situation and expects you and your chola in an hour. Any later and she'll have to request you chop off a limb."

Rachel huffed and tossed her phone onto the bar. That girl certainly wasn't getting any premium chocolate bars this time around. No, Rachel would be scraping the bottom of the barrel and purchasing that bitter chocolate from that Argentinean bodega down the street.

Santana scoffed before picking up the ring box and snapping it shut. "I heard that little psycho from here. Lets go."

"Wait, Santana—"

"I can't make decisions for Brit," Santana sighed with a roll of her eyes. "I know, Berry. Any more ranting and I'll stab you with an ice pick, clear?"

Rachel just nodded and they quickly left the non-descript bar far behind in order to make it to Sue's with just mere minutes to spare.

Her tiny (rude) assistant was there waiting for them with headset on and megaphone in hand.

The girl had her hand on her hip, currently glaring at the inedible chocolate Rachel had just given her. "I had a dream about you, Rachel Berry. I dreamed you died and then I woke up laughing."

"That's..." Rachel was utterly shellshocked by such an attack, as if the girl didn't believe she deserved retribution of any kind. "Where did she find you?"

"I rescued poor Becky from the depths of squalor, gorging on earth worms and her own arm pit hairs in the tunnels I had built underneath the gym."

The Coach appeared behind them, dressed in what Rachel recognized to be an original from the new tracksuit line, the woman's newest venture after the FDA deemed her meal supplement drink unsafe for mass production. Once it got out that Sue's own hair was added for bulk, her black market buyers tampered off as well.

"I went looking for safety from the impending apocalypse and I couldn't find my way out…" Becky the assistant added and Rachel wasn't quite sure what to say. "But now I'm the head Cheerio."

Rachel was silently searching for a reply and Sue seemed more interested in looking at herself—or her track suit—in the floor length mirror on the back of her office door.

"I knew the Asians couldn't be trusted." Sue turned back around, snapping her fingers and holding out her hand for another jacket that Becky seemed to produce from nowhere. "Ever since Sue Sylvester touched down in Pearl Harbor, and saw that no-good _Jewel_ knock-off _Faith Hill _soaring above the sky in a tailored bed sheet, I knew they couldn't possibly handle a simple backstitch without supervision."

Rachel blinked. "I…"

The woman quickly stripped off the faulty jacket and slipped on the new one that looked exactly the same, minus the horrible backstitching.

"Follow me, Striesand," Sue exclaimed, gesturing toward her office and tossing the old jacket at Becky, who caught it just before it hit her face. "I'd like to discuss...wait where is the Spanish tuna?"

"Santana will be joining us momentarily. She was unavoidably held up in a call—"

Sue held up her hand.

"I'm going to stop you right there," the woman exclaimed, her steely blue eyes then quickly whipping in her assistant's direction. "Becky, cancel the decontamination unit but make sure that putrid scent of bi-curiosity doesn't penetrate the Le Car."

The tiny girl gave a perfect salute, her heals clicking together as she yelled, "Yes, Coach."

Rachel just watched her scurry away, barking into her mini headset. The almost wistful look in Sue's eye was more than a little unnerving.

The woman sat behind her desk—as was usual—and Rachel slipped into one of the harder wooden ones in front of it. Sue leaned forward, positioning her forearms horizontally across the desktop with the tips of her fingers touching her elbows.

"Over the years, I've been splitting my duties between the Cheerios and my war against the funding of _Depp_ hair gel." the woman said leaning back with now just her elbows on the desk, fingertips pressed together in a pyramid just in front of her chest. "One has flourished and the other is still banging his mammoth chin into the doors of my most prized donators. This injustice can go on no longer."

Rachel frowned because Santana was usually the one to decode Sue's insanity so Rachel could follow along. Unfortunately, Sue was known for bloody murder if ever an appointment was late and Rachel believed her friend when she'd said the call was important just steps away from the gym's front door.

"I'm not sure I understand..."

Sue seemed to have already expected her response because she hardly moved from her statuesque pose for evil-doing. When she started to tap her fingertips together, Rachel suspected she was in trouble.

"You see my hatred for Will Schuester has gone on for over a decade now and I've come to realize that the time has finally come for Sue Sylvester to take her last stand and rip out Schuester's hair to bring as imperishable cooking grease while climbing the Himalayas by camel back."

Rachel's eyes widened. "I'm quite confused because you couldn't possibly be referring to the captain of the NYPD's white collar division?"

Sue placed her hands flat on the desk, leaning in almost menacingly. Rachel was about to fumble for her rape whistle when Sue's door slammed against the wall.

"We're in," Santana agreed, as she sauntered up to stand next to Rachel, "but you best be ready to pay a damn lot."

Sue just shook her head—looking for all intensive purposes, amused—before she sat back down, her chair rolling back with the sudden weight. She reached down into the drawer of her desk and pulled out another of her many personal portable blenders.

Rachel flinched back.

The blender turned on.


	18. Part 18

**A/N:** _I took this chapter down because of the glitch before but now that its fixed here is the new chapter. _Hopefully,_ the frequency of my updates doesn't make this story too hard to enjoy. I'll never be the person that regularly posts a chapter (or more) a week, though I really admire authors that do._

_Anyway, for the anonymous reviewer that requested I bring back the Faberry, here it is._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Part 18**

Rachel looked on while Quinn devoured a Parm' and Prosciutto sandwich—as a brunch for one—in the chair across from her. They'd managed to squeeze in a short lunchtime rendezvous at the last minute this morning, something Rachel had been absolutely thrilled by. Though watching Quinn gnaw her way through Italian deli meat wasn't exactly what she had in mind.

"You seem quite hungry," she teased and Quinn's head snapped up, a cute blush rising up her neck.

"Sorry, Puck and I skipped lunch and I…" Quinn trailed off, sheepishly grinning as she peaked up to gaze into brown eyes.

Rachel swiftly took possession of the blonde's hand, entwining their fingers until they were a tangled mess between their complimentary water glasses. "Don't worry, I was just worried you might choke or something equally as nefarious."

Quinn glared at her and Rachel winked, moving to pick up her grilled veggie wrap with both her hands. The blonde shook her head and began eagerly finishing off her sandwich once again.

"I'm really glad we could do this," Quinn said softly, as she followed up her latest bite with a large gulp of water. "I haven't had much time to myself lately."

"Yes, I suppose we've both been rather busy." Rachel's inquisitive gaze had Quinn dropping the last bites of her crusty roll back onto her plate. "Did the manager of that jewelry store not confess?"

Hazel eyes swept over Rachel thoughtfully before the blonde shook her head. "No, he did. I have a new case."

Rachel seemed absolutely riveted now, if not slightly smug that her predication (about the manager) had been right. Brown eyes twinkled, the woman's wrap lying all but forgotten.

"So this new case," Rachel leaned in almost conspiringly, "does it exhibit thievery at its absolute finest?"

Quinn laughed—leaning back in her seat—as she shook her head in utter disbelief, though technically she shouldn't have been surprised.

"No prints, no witnesses; this person even managed to bypass the motion sensors and a team of armed guards but you already knew that," she explained, her eyebrow shooting up just daring Rachel to disagree.

Of course, Rachel didn't.

In fact, the brunette was almost preening at such praise, her heated stare meeting Quinn's as she said, "This person seems like they're quite talented."

Hazel eyes darkened to a brazened gold. "Yes, she is."

Rachel quickly fished out a couple bills from her wallet, tossing them down on the table before dragging Quinn out into the dreary April rain. The tiny Diva produced an umbrella—from seemingly nowhere—as she turned to gaze up at Quinn.

"Walk with me?" Rachel asked.

Quinn could only nod.

The brunette beamed brightly and passed off the umbrella so Quinn could hold it over their heads.

Their walk lasted about a block—with Rachel singing every song imaginable that was composed about the rain—until Quinn cracked.

"I lied," she blurted out, her cheeks heating up as her words commingled with the brunette boldly blaming it on the rain. "I…wow this is awkward."

Rachel laughed. "I'm sure that _Milli Vanilli_ would agree to disagree, Quinn."

The blonde suddenly grasped Rachel's arm, gently tugging her under an awning away from the rain. The umbrella dropped and their eyes locked, as water flooded the streets around them.

"I do have a new case, I have a lot of new ones actually," Quinn mumbled, her hands shaking slightly, as she turned to gaze out in to lunchtime traffic. "My father he… his death was twelve years ago Sunday."

Rachel bit her lip, moving her hand to softly run the pad of her thumb over Quinn's cheek. "Are you interested in talking about it?"

Quinn turned to look at her—eyes so dark and thoughtful—until a mouthful of air left her lungs in defeat. "I want to, I think I can with you—"

Unfortunately, the door they were in front of whipped open and a beefy guy in a hoodie barged right through them to get out onto the sidewalk. Rachel clenched her fist and whirled around to give her attacker a finely worded piece of her mind but he was already darting off around the corner of the intersection up ahead.

Sighing, Rachel looked back up at Quinn. "I propose we maybe move this conversation somewhere a lot less inconveniently placed."

The blonde nodded. "Okay."

Rachel pulled out her phone from her pocket, only having to press a couple buttons before a familiar limousine materialized from what appeared to be thin air. The brunette was quickly pulling her inside without a word.

A gruff voice greeted them the moment the door closed behind them. "Where to, Miss Berry?"

"Anywhere, Walter. You're quite aware I just enjoy the ride." Rachel smiled, as the man tipped his hat in acknowledgement of her words. "Also I most appreciate you getting here so quickly."

"No problem," he said and the divider was hurriedly closed after that.

Far to fast for Quinn, who could hardly make out anything at all distinguishable about their driver with his high collared uniform and thickly brimmed hat. Rachel just giggled at Quinn's slight pout, as the car pulled out into the street.

"He's ex-Mossad, Quinn," explained Rachel, with a small quirk of her lips. "I'm even questionable Walter is his real name to be honest."

Hazel eyes widened, as they glanced at the Diva expectantly. "Why in the world would you have an ex-Mossad agent as your driver, Rachel?"

"My status as a celebrity has garnered me quite a few followers, some a bit more enthusiastic than I'd like," Rachel bit her lip, remembering the fan—who'd broken into her apartment for a pair of her undergarments—that spurred her very own bodyguard, "and as you're aware, Santana is quite protective of those she cares about."

A truth that had Rachel currently worried after her friends mysterious phone call before their meeting with Sue Sylvester. The past week had been filled with similar calls, the likes of which even Brittany had no answer for.

Sighing softly, Rachel felt Quinn's lips brush against hers, their noses teasingly bumping as the blonde whispered, "Thank you."

Rachel wasn't sure taking to blonde to lunch could rightfully constitute for such a reward but she certainly wasn't complaining. She allowed herself to be pulled until she was cuddled in Quinn's lap, wrapped in strong arms and almost straddling the blonde's waist.

"Quinn," she started but when the blonde pulled back to look at her, Rachel's left hand flew out to grasp Quinn's shoulder for balance.

Delicate fingers lifted Rachel's chin up and their eyes met briefly before Quinn swooped in for a kiss. Rachel mewled softly as their lips slid together and her mouth opened in a hushed plea for their tongues to meet, moaning quietly at the sensual slide of the blonde's tongue across hers.

Gasping, Quinn buried her face into Rachel's shoulder, panting slightly against the brunette's neck. Rain pelted against the tinted windows, the sounds of outside traffic was hardly noticeable inside such a luxury vehicle.

"I'd spilt cranberry juice on my dress at the Chastity Ball. He'd been drinking but I knew better than to question him about it," Quinn spoke softly, aloofly about the tragic tale passing by her lips. "He was berating me for embarrassing him, even though some other girl had tripped and spilt it on me. That's when he ran the red light and a truck collided with the driver's side door."

Rachel guided Quinn's head up until brown eyes could make out those always-indescribable pools of hazel, her heart beating a little faster at the almost tangible need there just desperate to get out. She leaned in for another kiss, deepening it immediately.

Both Quinn's hands found their way to Rachel's ass and were frantically trying to press her closer when Rachel pulled away, panting slightly. "In the accident report, it was decided that you were rendered unconscious and you only woke after his death but that wasn't true, was it?"

"I was never knocked out, or if I was it wasn't for long," Quinn mumbled, her gaze fluttering down to Rachel collarbone and the wisps of hair that tickled against the tan skin. "I couldn't move my legs and the car was on its side, so I couldn't get out. I could get my phone though, the screen was cracked but the phone still worked. I was going to call for help but his blood; it kept dripping from the gash in his head and hitting my arm, I..."

She felt Quinn stiffen and the blonde's arms squeezed her impossibly tighter to make sure Rachel didn't leave her lap.

Leaning down, Rachel's lips brushed against the shell of Quinn's ear, as she whispered, "Tell me, Quinn."

The blonde exhaled softy, wilting slightly in her seat.

"I just kept watching it slide down my arm and I thought about all the horrible things he'd done to me and my mother and I… I just watched him die," the blonde closed her eyes, as tears splashed down pale cheeks. "I watched him die until the driver of the car that hit us came to and called for help."

Biting her lip, Rachel debated her next course of action before just freely giving in to instinct. She moved to sit beside the blonde, pulling Quinn on top of her and into her arms, something the woman only resisted for a moment before burrowing herself into place.

Rachel sighed, helplessly cradling the blonde in her lap, as her mind continued to race. The car stopped at a light, Rachel swallowed down what she could of her fears.

"I believe it's time I share with you the story of my mother, Quinn."

The car started moving once again.


End file.
